


Snowflakes and Soulmates

by WrathOfMacy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Tree, F/M, Fremione Fanatics' Yule Fest 2020, Friends to Lovers, Holidays, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Romance, Sex, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27332359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrathOfMacy/pseuds/WrathOfMacy
Summary: She knew that Fred had walked in before she even looked up. There was a sudden hush followed by a flurry of giggles and whispers suddenly sweeping the classroom, serving in stark contrast to the usual bustle of lunchtime. As she lifted her gaze from the papers in front of her, his eyes locked with hers and she felt a faint flutter in her belly as a wry grin twisted his lips.“Come on now,” she chastised the students, trying, with some effort, to draw their attention, “finish eating your lunches and then we can get to work on our craft projects with Mr. Fred.”It took several moments, but the children eventually turned back to their food, sitting in groups around the room and chattering excitedly as they ate.“Hello, gorgeous,” Fred greeted her, having made his way to the front of the class to give her a hug. His arms snaked around her waist as he squeezed her gently. He smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg, tinged ever so slightly with gunpowder. It was a pleasant combination, to say the least.
Relationships: Angelina Johnson/George Weasley, Hannah Abbott/Ron Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom/Theodore Nott
Comments: 144
Kudos: 249
Collections: Fremione Fanatics 2020 Yule fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When I signed up for this fest, I had no clue at all what I wanted to write, and then I blinked and there was this fully formed story on the page in front of me. Though it isn't necessarily the ship I write the most frequently, Fremione was the pairing that first got me interested in HP fanfiction and there will always be a special place in my heart for these two. I hope you enjoy reading this even half as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> If you're even remotely interested in reading more Fremione holiday content, make sure you check out the other works in this collection; I have it on good authority that there are some fantastic stories being shared over the course of December (2020). 
> 
> This one will be updated on Wednesdays and Saturdays, two chapters at a time, until complete. Click "Bookmark" if you want email notifications when new chapters are uploaded and, as usual, mind the tags and story rating. 
> 
> Have a safe and happy holiday season!

* * *

“All right, all right, let’s settle down now!” Hermione called, suppressing a smile as she tried to calm her classroom full of excited, wriggly children. 

She’d just announced that a special visitor would be coming in the following day to help out with their Christmas craft projects - none other than Fred Weasley, who was something of a celebrity to the older children. 

“We won’t be able to do anything fun tomorrow if we can’t finish our work today, will we?”

The idle threat was enough to quiet them, and they turned back to their respective projects as Hermione resumed her usual position behind her desk in the corner of the room.

As she looked out over their heads, Hermione felt a familiar swell of pride at what she had managed to build in the past several years. In this room were the kids aged eight to ten, who were separated further into three groups.

The ten-year-olds were currently completing an exercise in which they practiced evenly slicing ginger root (with safety knives, charmed not to cut fingers); the nine-year-olds were working on their multiplication tables; and the eight-year-olds were taking a quiz on the Hogwarts founders. In all, there were about thirty children.

In the next room, the other teacher had the five- to seven-year-olds working on more basic concepts.

Hermione had previously been in charge of that group as well, but she had been secretly thrilled when the school had outgrown her single classroom and necessitated that another teacher come onboard. While she truly loved children of all ages, she found she had a bit more patience with those that were slightly older.

Unlike Hogwarts, The Marauders Preparatory Academy was a day school. Children were dropped off or flooed in at nine in the morning and left at four in the afternoon.

It had taken several years after the war to get the proper funding lined up, as well as appealing to the ministry for allowances like the monitored use of underage magic on the premises, as well as the issuance of “practice wands” for the older children, but it was a project Hermione didn’t feel the least bit guilty about exploiting her connections to achieve.

While Harry didn’t play an active role in the school, he was the primary benefactor that had helped her get the place off the ground, along with Neville and the Weasley twins.

The original intention of the academy had been to ensure that children like Harry and her, and frankly like Tom Riddle, didn’t feel isolated or out of place, raised in the muggle world while knowing they were somehow different.

That said, the concept had quickly snowballed to make up for a number of other issues in the magical community of wizarding Britain. For example, pureblood children who previously couldn’t afford tutors now received a formal education in basic things like English and arithmetic.

Hermione had spent many, many hours discussing the shortcomings of the former system with Minerva, who had been all too eager to brainstorm ways to make the transition to Hogwarts less tumultuous.

She’d detailed stories of muggle-born students overwhelmed by the new world they suddenly found themselves in, pureblood students that didn’t know basics like writing and simple maths, and all manner of children in between that struggled with socialising and adapting to the rigid structure of Hogwarts’ curriculum.

There had been, and still was, strong opposition to the school from certain factions of the older pureblood families, but post-war it seemed those opinions carried much less clout, and she had the heads of several of the most noble houses among her supporters, as well as Kingsley and Percy at the Ministry.

The children worked in silence for the remainder of the hour before the clock in the entry-hall struck four.

“Dragons, if you could please place your chopped roots in the jars on your tables and write your names on them, I will come around to collect them. Bowtruckles, set your worksheets in a pile on my desk, and Kneazles, please do the same with your quizzes.”

The playful nicknames for each year-group had been Luna’s suggestion when they were having tea prior to the school opening. Hermione kept a watchful eye as the children went about their tasks before going to the cubbies against the far wall and collecting their bags and cloaks. She strode across the room to open the door so they could file into the entryway, the walls of which were lined with fireplaces.

They began to line up and floo themselves home with a myriad of waves and goodbyes sent in her direction, as well as a couple hugs, all of which she returned warmly.

It was her turn to oversee pick-up, so she kept a careful ear out to make sure everybody spoke their destinations properly. Once they had mostly gone, she spotted a familiar face near the front door of the building where some parents opted to collect their children in person.

“Hi Hannah,” she greeted cheerfully, watching as the very pregnant witch awkwardly bent to fasten little Rose’s cloak around her shoulders.

“Hi Hermione,” Hannah replied, looking up and returning a somewhat tired smile.

“Everything alright? You look a bit knackered.”

“Oh, it’s just Hugo – he’s going through a phase of climbing into our bed in the middle of the night. Combine that with this one,” she gestured at her stomach, “kicking me all hours and it’s a miracle I get any sleep at all.”

“I’m a good girl and I stay in my bed at nighttime, so mummy doesn’t have to get up,” Rose offered solemnly, turning to look up at Hermione with a serious expression.

“I’m sure you do sweetheart,” Hermione said in an equally somber tone, crouching to help her adjust the bag on her shoulder as it threatened to topple the tiny witch.

“We’re just about to do a bit of holiday shopping if you’d like to join us,” Hannah offered, beginning to make her way toward the door.

“I can’t, I have to get some things together for the students’ craft projects tomorrow, but thank you so much for inviting me. You ladies have fun, and give my love to Ron and Hugo,” Hermione said with a smile, waving as they departed.

Frankly, she did have the time to join them, but socialising with Hannah one-on-one was always a bit uncomfortable. Though Hermione and Ron had only dated for a few months after the war, seeing his family now was a startling look at what her life could have been if they had stayed together.

Hannah was a wonderful mother and a loving wife, but, much like Molly, she was content to be only those things the majority of the time, and Hermione knew in her heart that she never would have been. Though there had been an increasing number of instances over the years that she wished she had children of her own, ending things with Ron had been best for both of them.

Once the last of the students and parents departed, Hermione shut the door behind them and locked it before going to poke her head into the classroom adjacent to hers.

“What in Merlin’s name happened in here?” she asked, eyes wide as she took in what looked like thick purple paint splattered across the ceiling and down two of the walls.

“I do _not_ want to talk about it,” Theodore Nott said sullenly as he waved his wand and continued to vanish the offending goop in patches. He too was bespattered, curly brown hair plastered to his head on one side and glasses askew.

“Accidental magic?” Hermione asked with a wince, pressing her lips together in a tight line to suppress a laugh when a glob of paint fell from the ceiling and plopped unceremoniously on his head.

“Finnigan. _Again_.”

“Sweet Salazar, he’s almost as good at making things explode as his father,” Hermione said, shaking her head.

“Well, he’s your problem next year,” Theo said with a slightly mean smirk. “Would you please…?” he gestured to his person as he vanished the last of the paint from the wall beside his desk.

“Of course,” Hermione said, drawing her wand and vanishing the goop that was all over him before performing a cleaning charm on his robes. Working with children, it was a near-daily ritual. “Remember, Fred is coming in tomorrow to help with the holiday crafts.”

She perched on the edge of his desk as he took his seat behind it and organised a stack of what appeared to be rather colourful drawings of centaurs and merpeople. 

“How could I forget? You’ve mentioned it. Twice a day. Every day. For the past week,” he teased accusingly.

“Have not,” she defended.

“He broke up with Katie ages ago Hermione. That well-muscled ginger ship is going to sail off into the sunset without you if you don’t hop aboard soon.”

“I am not ‘hopping’ on anything, we’re just friends.”

“Whatever you say darling. Are you okay to close up? I have to go home and get ready for a date with my own ‘friend.’”

“Of course,” she waved him off, “give my love to Neville.”

“Oh, I’ll be giving him lots of love, rest assured,” he said, waggling his eyebrows and grabbing the bag that was stashed beneath his desk.

“You’re obscene, you know that?”

“Only on days ending in Y. Have a good night!” he called over his shoulder, scurrying from the room before she could change her mind. She heard the floo roar to life and then quiet again a second later.

Hermione got off the desk and walked slowly along the perimeter of the room, muttering cleaning spells and straightening charms, finally extinguishing the lights before closing the door behind her. She locked all of the floos in the entry hall and then made her way into her own classroom.

She levitated the jars of ginger root onto the table behind her desk to be marked over the weekend and placed the worksheets and quizzes in folders which she then deposited in her bag. After performing the same cleaning spells she’d just completed in Theo’s room, she closed the door to the entry hall and proceeded through to the other door in the back of her classroom that was connected to the admin office.

The much smaller chamber was lined with filing cabinets and stacked boxes of supplies – quills, parchment, paints, vials, and the like. She picked out some of the things they would need for the next day and placed them on the crowded desk against the wall before sighing and looking at the clock over the door. It was already almost six. She collected her things from the hook beside the door to the back alley and stepped into the frigid December air.

After locking and warding the building, she ducked out of the backstreet and onto the main road through Hogsmeade. Even for a Thursday, the village was bustling with people shopping for the quickly approaching holidays, many attempting to avoid the larger crowds in London.

She made her way slowly to the lane that led toward the quieter part of town where her cottage sat. The sky was already darkening, and the lightest flurry of snow had begun to fall. Her feet made quiet slopping sounds as she trudged through the slush on the path, pulling her cloak more tightly around her as the wind picked up. Someone had adorned the streetlamps with red ribbons that fluttered festively in the gusty breeze.

She reached the garden gate in front of her house and pushed it open, the metal creaking a bit, before she continued up the flagstone path to her front door.

Hermione loved her home. It looked as though it belonged on a greetings card; an unassuming cottage with a thin blanket of snow over the roof. She had enchanted some muggle holiday decorations so that twinkling lights lined the gutters overhead.

“Felix, I’m home,” she called, as she stepped into the small parlour and dried her cloak and boots with a wave of her wand before depositing them in the hall cupboard. A pale grey half-kneazle with obscenely large ears turned the corner and began weaving around her legs.

“Did you miss me?” she asked, smiling as he meowed innocuously before leaping onto the back of the sofa beside her Christmas tree. “Yeah, I missed you too.”

She moved into the kitchen and prepared herself a sandwich, retrieving a packet of crisps from the cupboard to go with it. As she leaned against the counter and ate her dinner while Felix dozed in the other room, she couldn’t help but dwell on Theo’s earlier comment about Fred and her.

She and the elder Weasley twin had grown indisputably close in the past year, some weeks having dinner together more often than not. Shortly before George and Angelina, now pregnant with their first child, had gotten married, Fred had moved to Hogsmeade to take over the new branch of WWW full time and gave them the run of the flat over the Diagon Alley store. Not long after that he’d broken things off with Katie Bell, his girlfriend of several years.

Hermione was surprised, having assumed they would get married as well, but Ginny told her that neither of them had been completely happy with the relationship for some time. She and Katie played for the Harpies together and she got the scoop from both sides. Apparently, Fred had wanted to settle down and start a family, but Katie wanted to continue playing quidditch professionally, something that was extremely difficult for a witch after having children.

Fred didn’t blame her for the relationship ending, only ever speaking fondly of their time together, but Hermione could tell he was initially a bit depressed about having to start over.

Her mind then drifted to seeing Hannah picking up Rose. As she stood in the still quiet of her home, dimly lit by Christmas lights and the lamp hanging over the sink, she reasoned that she was quite content with her life.

She had the school running smoothly and couldn’t be happier with how far it had come since she had first pitched the idea to Harry more than seven years ago. He was teaching Defence up at Hogwarts now, so she saw him and Ginny relatively frequently. They had been married for several years and talked about kids, but Harry wasn’t in any rush, content to play parent to those in his classroom. Ron came around every so often, though the more children he had the less they saw of him.

She scourgified her plate and placed it back in the cupboard before settling on the sofa and pulling Felix into her lap. She looked at the lights on the tree for a moment, enchanted to twinkle, then flicked her wand at the radio in the corner, which began to croon an instrumental of Silent Night. For a moment she shut her eyes and let the music wash over her.

Finally, with a sigh, she summoned her bag from where she had deposited it on the kitchen counter and extracted the quizzes she needed to mark.

Hermione _was_ content, truly, but the tiniest voice in the back of her mind couldn’t help but wonder if she might be ready for something more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to give a shoutout and thank-you to TanzaniteWrites, Omnenomnom, and Raquians for beta-reading this story. Also, a tremendous thank-you to LSUsweetie for her continued support, encouragement, and advice.


	2. Chapter 2

She knew that Fred had walked in before she even looked up. There was a sudden hush followed by a flurry of giggles and whispers suddenly sweeping the classroom, serving in stark contrast to the usual bustle of lunchtime. As she lifted her gaze from the papers in front of her, his eyes locked with hers and she felt a faint flutter in her belly as a wry grin twisted his lips.

“Come on now,” she chastised the students, trying, with some effort, to draw their attention, “finish eating your lunches and then we can get to work on our craft projects with Mr. Fred.”

It took several moments, but the children eventually turned back to their food, sitting in groups around the room and chattering excitedly as they ate.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Fred greeted her, having made his way to the front of the class to give her a hug. His arms snaked around her waist as he squeezed her gently. He smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg, tinged ever so slightly with gunpowder. It was a pleasant combination, to say the least.

“Thank you so much again for doing this,” Hermione said when they pulled apart. He’d barely changed over the years save for a couple more lines around his eyes where they crinkled when he laughed. His copper hair, worn long and shaggy in their youth, was now cropped shorter on the sides and tousled on top, and he was clad in a pair of tan trousers and a green Christmas jumper with snowflakes on it.

“It’s hardly a chore,” he replied, waving her off and sinking into an empty seat near her desk. “Besides, I’d be in the wrong line of work if I didn’t like kids.”

“Well, they certainly like you,” she remarked, resuming her own spot and tucking away the papers she had been reviewing. “They’re more excited than when Harry visits.”

“Well, you know, I am extremely famous,” he joked. He caught sight of Teddy Lupin sitting at a nearby table and returned his excited wave. The little boy’s hair was striped red and green in the spirit of the day. “So, what all are we doing, anyway?”

Hermione blinked twice, tearing her eyes from the smattering of freckles across his nose that she’d unintentionally been staring at.

“Erm, Kneazles are decorating ornaments, Bowtruckles are making snow globes, and Dragons are making sock-penguins and then attempting to charm them to waddle about.”

“Sock-penguins?” he asked incredulously. She turned in her seat to grab the example off the windowsill. It was a black tube sock, filled with dry rice and secured at the top with a rubber band. A second rubber band was positioned about a third of the way down, creating a portly, penguin-shaped body. He had a white felt middle and an orange nose with two googly eyes stuck above it. Finally, there was a ribbon fastened around his neck for a scarf, and the toe of another sock, this one blue, had been cut off and slipped over his head to look like a hat.

“Well, that’s positively charming,” Fred said, taking the little fellow in his hands. “’ _Excutite_ ’ for the waddling?”

“Modified, actually; ‘ _Signum Excutite_ ,’” she corrected, accepting the penguin back. “They just have the practice wands, so it’ll be weakened, but it should last at least until Christmas if they do it properly.”

She placed the small figure on her desk and poked it in the midsection, in response to which it began to rock back and forth in a slow path forward, stopping beside a mug full of spare quills.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?” he said with a wry grin, shaking his head at her. “Most people wouldn’t think to use a spell intended to sift flour for a children’s craft.”

“You would,” she pointed out, raising her eyebrows at him.

He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by one of the eight-year-olds, Charlotte, knocking over her bottle of pumpkin juice.

“My book!” she cried, jerking the sodden novel out of the puddle a second too late. She was a slip of a girl, thick brown hair pulled back with a headband and blue eyes rapidly pooling with tears.

“It’s okay,” Hermione said in a soothing voice, drawing her wand as she strode over.

“No, it’s – it’s ruined,” Charlotte whimpered, looking up at her with dismay. Hermione waved her wand and vanished the sticky juice from the table and floor before turning to Charlotte, only to find Fred had already knelt beside her.

“None of that, none of that,” he said, conjuring a handkerchief and exchanging it for the book as Charlotte began to softly sob into it. Fred quickly moved his own wand in an intricate pattern, suspending the volume in the air while rapidly drying and cleaning each page. It was a truly impressive bit of magic. After a moment he caught it in his hands. “See? Good as new.”

He offered the book back to Charlotte, who accepted it with wide eyes as Hermione knelt on her other side. After several more calming words, the girl quieted and began to read again, fingers tracing the edges of the pages reverently.

“Five minutes left on lunch,” Hermione announced as she and Fred settled back at the front of the room.

“Well, she certainly reminds me of someone,” Fred said with a grin, gesturing at Charlotte. “Bit attached to her book, she is.”

“She does remind me of my younger self sometimes,” Hermione admitted, debating telling him why that observation was so incredibly astute before settling against it. This wasn’t the time. “Just started with us this year actually.”

“Why not sooner?” Fred asked curiously.

“She’s one of Draco’s,” Hermione explained.

Ten years ago, the idea of referring to Draco Malfoy by his first name, let alone in a friendly fashion, would have had her doubled over in laughter, but he truly had turned over a new leaf.

After the war, Hermione and Harry had both testified on his and Narcissa’s behalf, ultimately earning them six months of house arrest followed by a year of probation in which their movements and wands were closely monitored. Lucius had not fared so well, sentenced to life in Azkaban, but Hermione had quickly discovered that there was no love lost between Draco and his father, and Narcissa wasted no time serving him divorce papers once all of the Malfoy holdings had been moved into her son’s name.

Part of their probation had included weekly Muggle Studies classes, as well as working with some of the war orphans, who were in a makeshift foster program through the ministry. Draco must have grown attached to the kids because when his probation was up, he and his mother demolished part of Malfoy manor and, after extensive construction, reopened it as a wizarding orphanage named Malfoy House.

Following a number of rather painful conversations, he and Hermione had reconciled their schoolyard differences. He had apologised, and she had come to understand that he had lost his childhood to the war just as much as Harry had. He could still be a prat, but he clearly cared about the children, and all of those that were of-age attended her school.

“War orphan?” Fred asked in a hushed tone, brow furrowing as he took in the little girl. Upon closer examination, she was seated a little bit away from the other children and was clutching her book so hard that her knuckles were white.

“Muggle-born,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “Draco said she was bounced around foster care until a burst of accidental magic set the sofa on fire in her last house. The ministry pulled her out and worked with the muggle authorities to smooth things over.”

“Were they…?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think they were physically abusing her, but she’s very attached to her belongings, and we allow her to keep a snack at her desk. When she started, she was sneaking her lunch out of her cubby to keep it with her during the day. I don’t think they were feeding her very well.”

“That’s brutal,” Fred said, shaking his head. She nodded before taking a breath and rubbing her hands together.

“Well, it’s showtime. Grab that box of socks.”

oOoOoOo

The holiday crafts couldn’t have gone better as far as Hermione was concerned. Fred had stayed in her room for the majority of the time, briefly going to Theo’s to offer his assistance and returning a short time later with a vaguely haunted look in his eye. When asked what happened, he responded only with the words ‘shaving cream.’

The pair moved around the class and helped where it was needed, celebrating when every single child in the Dragon group managed to get their penguin to move. Most of them having been with her for three years, they were the most advanced class yet.

Though he circulated the room, Hermione noticed that Fred paid special attention to Charlotte, who was very carefully painting the words ‘Happy Christmas’ in painstakingly even letters across the side of her ornament. Though she was typically very quiet, she eventually warmed up and started to tell him all about the book she was reading, Matilda.

Hermione surprised the children with hot cocoa near the end of the day and had them each go around the room and say something that they wanted for Christmas. There were still two days of class the following week, but many of the parents had opted to start the holiday vacation early because of travel plans and family events.

The answers were mostly toys of varying muggle and magical origin. Teddy, who had just turned eight, talked about how his Uncle Harry was going to get him a broom and teach him how to fly when the weather was warmer. One little boy named Remy explained that he was going to see his dad, who had been away on business for several months. When it got to Charlotte, she quietly said that she had never had a magic Christmas before, but that she hoped she would get more books.

When Hermione briefly caught Fred’s eye across the room, he appeared to be debating how best to wrap the entire Flourish and Blott’s catalogue for the girl.

They helped the children pack up and cast unbreakable charms on all of the projects, envisioning shattered ornaments and mangled sock-penguins emerging from their bags at home. When the last child had left and Hermione locked up, she and Fred stood in the empty entry hall of the academy.

“That was so much fun, you’re positively fantastic with them,” Hermione said, voice giving away how genuinely impressed she was. “If you ever decide entrepreneurship isn’t your calling, I will happily bring you on as a teacher.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he laughed. Hermione was suddenly struck with the bizarre sensation that one got at the end of a date, standing in the silent chamber, perhaps a foot apart. She drew in a slightly shaky breath as she looked up at him, noticing a bit of blue paint on his cheek.

“You have something, just there,” she said, gesturing at the side of his face. “May I?”

He nodded and, rather than the cleaning charms she used on Theo, she conjured a flannel and wet it with an augamenti spell. She placed her left hand on his chin to tilt his head a bit and wiped the paint away with the cloth in her right. When it was gone her fingertips lingered on his jaw, the feeling of light stubble and warm skin beneath them.

Fred looked a bit surprised but didn’t make any move to pull away. A beat passed in which it felt like they were suspended in time. Then there was a clatter from Theo’s room and they were both rather suddenly reminded that they weren’t alone. Hermione dropped her hand and took a step back, vanishing the rag.

Fred swallowed hard and licked his lips before asking in a nonchalant tone, “Dinner tonight?”

“Yeah, I think I can do that. Your place?”

He nodded.

“Great – I have some cleaning to do, but I can meet you around six it that’s all right.” 

“That’ll suit; are you sure you don’t want any help straightening up?”

“I’m fine. That’s what magic is for, isn’t it?”

Fred raised his hands in a show of defeat before summoning his coat from the classroom. He then said goodbye and stepped into a nearby fireplace, disappearing in a pyre of emerald flames.

Her eyes lingered on where he had been, mind racing with the charge that had been in the air a moment earlier. There was no way she had imagined that. The sound of a throat clearing made her jump.

“You have a bit of drool, right there,” Theo said, gesturing at the corner of his mouth as he leaned against the doorframe of his classroom with a smug smirk, “might want to do something about that.”

“Sod off,” she said, rolling her eyes. “How were the kids today?”

“You don’t pay me enough,” he sighed, shaking his head.

“I don’t pay you at all,” Hermione pointed out. It was true. While she certainly wasn’t a proponent of slave labor - she had her history with S.P.E.W. to back that up - when Theo had joined the staff a year and a half prior following Draco’s recommendation, he stated he had “too much money and too much time” when she brought up his salary. 

“Nevertheless, there are methods of torture that are kinder than what I went through today.” He followed her into her classroom, looking demoralized at the relative cleanliness of it as she began to set things to rights. “Why don’t you go home and get ready for your date?”

“It’s not a date,” she said, shooting him a glare. “We have dinner together a couple times a week.”

“Mmm, mmm-hmm, right. On a Friday night? After nearly making out in a place where children come to learn?”

Hermione lost her concentration and sent a stack of books thudding to the ground before nearly tripping over them. She looked up, scandalised. “We did _not_ –“

“Please. I had to levitate a desk into the wall so you two didn’t start shagging like bunnies. When was the last time you got some anyway?”

“You are a nosy git, you know that?” she shot at him, gathering the stack of discarded texts.

“More than two months?” he inquired. “More than _six months_?”

She stopped in front of her desk and hung her head. He wasn’t going to let it go.

“Nearly a year,” she muttered.

“Merlin Hermione, you probably have cobwebs in your-“

“Hey! Not all of us have such an easy time dating, you know?”

“Wait, was the last time Ernie? As in, Ernie-that-couldn’t-get-you-off-if-the-fate-of-the-world-hung-in-the-balance, Ernie?”

“He was a very sweet guy, and I don’t mind taking care of things myself,” she defended, collecting her bag and cloak.

“Ah yes, I’m sure you’ll be very happy living the rest of your life as Mrs. Purple Vibrator. You’ll have lots of little sex toy babies. Remind me again where you’re registered?”

“I hate you, and I am leaving.”

“That’s right, go clean the dust off your-“

“Good NIGHT Theo!” Hermione called over her shoulder as she made a break for the fireplace in the front hall, trusting him to lock up. It was still twenty minutes to six, so she flooed home to deposit her things and feed Felix.

“You don’t think my sex life is pathetic, do you?” she asked the half-kneazle, standing in front of the mirror beside her wardrobe. She was still in her work clothes and feeling a little discouraged about it. Stripping off the conservatively hemmed skirt and button-down blouse, she went to her dresser and extracted a pair of black leggings and a fitted grey sweaterdress that cut off mid-thigh.

Pulling them on, she debated adding some makeup and then rolled her eyes at herself. She was being stupid, this was Fred for crying out loud. Just Fred.

She pinned her hair up in a messy bun and rolled a tube of Chapstick over her lips before shaking her head at herself in the mirror and descending the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

“Fred?” Hermione called out upon flooing into the living room of his flat. Much like in London, he lived above the Hogsmeade WWW store. Unlike in London, however, it was small and surprisingly tasteful in its decor. While Hermione knew Angie redecorated after Fred left, the bright greens and purples and oranges hadn’t made the move with him either.

The flat was, in a word, cozy. The living room had a sofa and overstuffed armchair in a darker tone of Gryffindor red, with a round coffee table set in between them. On the wall to her left hung a gift Hermione had made for Fred for his birthday earlier that year with Ginny’s help. She’d dug all of their original product designs, recipes, packaging sketches and WWW logo drafts from storage at The Burrow and pasted them together in a collage. Fred had immediately framed it and hung it proudly on the wall, much to Hermione’s outwardly subdued delight. Every time she came over and saw the piece, it made her feel as if their friendship was something permanent in his life. 

Against the other wall, framed by two windows overlooking the street in the village, was a small dining table with two place settings and a lit candle. There were other lights on in the apartment, but the candle still made Hermione’s stomach flip-flop.

“Fred?” she called again, a bit louder this time.

“Kitchen!” he responded, voice coming from the hall beside the sofa. Hermione set her bag on the arm of the chair and kicked off her boots, leaving them beside the fireplace before padding across the wood floor, clutching the bottle of wine she’d brought.

“Whatever you’re making smells wonderful,” she commented, rounding the corner and being pleasantly enveloped in the aroma of basil and garlic. Fred was beside the stove on one wall, having exchanged his jumper from earlier for a dark blue button-down that had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Pasta in tomato cream sauce – that one I made last month that you insisted was ‘the best thing you’d ever eaten,’” he said over his shoulder with a cheeky grin.

“Mmm, I think you’re remembering incorrectly,” she said, setting the bottle of pinot noir on the counter and retrieving two glasses from the cupboard. There was a comfortable familiarity to the act; it was something she had done perhaps a hundred times in the past year.

“No way, I distinctly remember you making some rather erotic noises while you ate it.”

She huffed out an embarrassed laugh and swatted him on the shoulder before uncorking the bottle of wine and pouring them each a glass.

“I’ll drink both of these myself,” she threatened, holding them out of range when he reached for one, still stirring the pan of simmering sauce on the stove with one hand.

After a moment of contemplation and several more failed attempts to grab it from her, he surrendered, and she handed him the wine before jumping up to sit on the counter beside the sink and grabbing an errant chunk of tomato off the cutting board.

“So did Theo survive craft day?” Fred asked, taking a sip from his glass.

“Barely,” Hermione replied, “I swear, one of these days he’s going to run away from that school screaming and never come back. I won’t even be able to blame him for it.”

“I doubt it. I know my experience is limited, but they all seem like good kids.”

“Good kids are still very messy, very loud kids,” she joked as she took a draft from her own glass, the subtle undertone of black cherry rolling across her tongue.

“Taste,” Fred instructed, turning from the stove and cupping his hand beneath a wooden spoon coated in sauce, presenting it to her. She leaned forward and parted her lips, taking the edge into her mouth and sampling the offering, failing to notice that his breath hitched a bit.

“Needs a bit of salt,” she concluded, smacking her lips lightly and leaning back again as he returned to the stove.

Several adjustments later, they had migrated to the table in the other room, each with a steaming bowl of pasta in front of them.

“I can’t believe you still haven’t set up your tree,” Hermione chastised, taking a bite of her food and pointedly suppressing a moan. It truly was amazing. “Christmas is less than two weeks away.”

“I know, but the store has been absurdly busy. Today was my first day off in weeks! George had to lend me Verity from the Diagon Alley shop. She’s still downstairs as we speak.”

He had a point – the shop closed at eight and their dinners had been pushed back to accommodate in the past several weeks. Usually he could leave the store in the hands of Jeremy for the last couple hours, a recent Hogwarts grad that was living in the village and had been brought on several months ago, but with the influx of holiday shoppers, one person simply wasn’t enough most of the time.

“Why don’t you bring on someone seasonal to help out? Christmas and back-to-school are always so chaotic.”

“Maybe; Ginny offered to lend a hand since she’s back at the castle for the holidays, but her and Harry don’t get all that much time together as it is.”

“I mean… I’m finished with the kids on Tuesday. There’s a bit of cleaning to be done, but I can come help man the till for a few hours a day if you’d like.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Fred said quickly, reaching to refill his wine glass and, after receiving a nod, doing the same to hers. “I know it’s your time off.” 

“I don’t mind really. I just have a little admin work to get sorted, but classes don’t resume until January. It’s not like I have much else going on anyway.”

If she was honest, the holidays were always a little hard on Hermione. Last year was overshadowed by George and Angelina’s wedding, which had been held on 26 December, but prior to that Hermione had a tendency to self-isolate while others partook in festivities, typically succumbing to Christmas dinner at The Burrow and little else.

It wasn’t that she disliked Christmas, quite the opposite, but it reminded her of spending the holidays with her parents, who were still in Australia and blissfully unaware of her existence; even as the years passed, that wound still smarted a bit.

“If you’re sure you don’t mind,” he said, giving her a doubtful look. “This time of year, we’re busiest between five and closing.”

“Consider it done,” she said, taking another heavenly bite of her dinner. “And we are decorating this flat tonight.”

“Are we?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her proclamation and smiling.

“Yep,” she affirmed, the wine going to her head ever so slightly. “You said it’s your only day off, and this place is in desperate need of a properly trimmed tree.”

He studied her face, noting the pink tint to her cheeks, and in that moment, he couldn’t imagine a universe in which he denied her anything at all.

“As you wish,” he said, dipping his head. “Are we conjuring a tree, or traipsing into the forest to retrieve one?”

“Ordinarily I would say we should get a real one, but it’s terribly cold out tonight…”

“Conjured it is.”

They finished their dinner and Fred cleared the plates and retrieved a second bottle of wine while Hermione shifted the furniture around to make room for the newly minted evergreen that stood perhaps seven feet tall beside the crackling fireplace; she even charmed it to smell faintly of pine. The conjuration wouldn’t last forever, but it would survive the next week and a half at least.

“Decorations?” Hermione called out.

“I think they’re in the attic?” Fred mused, striding back into the room and levitating their glasses with the new bottle of wine. “I’m not certain. I didn’t even get around to putting a tree up last year with everything that was going on.”

After some hunting, they unearthed a couple dusty boxes of garland and ornaments from the crawl space in the hallway.

Hermione flicked her wand at the radio in the corner when they walked back into the living room; it wasn’t muggle like hers, so rather than Silent Night or Jingle Bells, Celestia Warbeck’s voice floated through the speakers as they unpacked the decorations and set them on the sofa.

_Out of all the charms that ring my bell  
There's nothing like a holiday spell!_

She stole a glance sideways to see Fred’s head tilted a bit in concentration as he began to strategically hang ornaments on the tree, and she couldn’t help but smile. There was just something about the man, a warmth that would keep even the coldest December night at bay, and she wanted nothing more than to wrap herself in it. Would that be fair to him though? 

“Are you planning to help at all?” he teased after a moment, looking over his shoulder at her still form.

“Of course,” she said with a breathless laugh as she remembered herself, stepping beside him and placing a glass ornament that looked like an icicle on the tree. They continued on like this, idly chatting and drinking while the music changed every few minutes, until all but two bulbs were left. Fred hooked his on an empty branch and turned to see Hermione on her tiptoes, trying to place hers on another that was just out of reach.

After rapidly debating the options at his disposal, he stepped behind her so his chest brushed her back. She smelled like peppermint and cedarwood, and something heady that was uniquely Hermione.

“May I?” he asked, and she stilled for a second before nodding. Rather than simply taking the ornament, he reached a hand around and placed it over hers, muttering a wandless levitation charm so it floated the last few inches to the branch she’d been trying to reach, looping neatly over the needles. She could have done it herself, but both their heads were a little fuzzy from the alcohol.

_But as long as we're together, the weather can put on a show  
'Cause we'll be safe and warm beneath the mistletoe_

She twisted, still on her tiptoes and caught between him and the tree. Warm brown eyes collided with deep blue, and she drew in a shaky breath, acutely aware that his hand was still wrapped around hers. Then everything stilled; just as he began to lean in, there was a knock at the door. He looked as if he debated ignoring it but ultimately broke away to answer, leaving Hermione to release a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“Hey Verity,” he said as the door swung open to reveal the blonde woman at the top of the stairs that lead down to the shop.

“Hey Fred – hi Hermione,” Verity said, catching sight of Hermione in the room and offering a little wave before turning back to her provisional boss. “Just wanted to let you know everything is locked up downstairs before I head out. Money is in the safe and shelves are restocked.”

“Thanks again for coming to help out,” Fred said in a purposefully friendly tone, trying to suppress his frustration over the interruption.

“It wasn’t any bother at all; you two have a good night!”

She departed and Fred shut the door behind her. He crossed the room back to Hermione, but it was as if the air had shifted. There was a cover of God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs playing now and Hermione had moved to untangle the garland on the sofa, keeping her eyes downcast.

Her mind was racing. He was going to kiss her. He had been moving in to _kiss her_. And the reality of the situation hit her like a ton of bricks.

Right now, when it was just the two of them, this made sense, but she wasn’t sure it would when they got back to the rest of the world. Fred was arguably her best friend these days. She didn’t know if she could risk losing him, and she didn’t know if, or how, this would play into a life changing decision that she’d already set in motion weeks ago.

He seemed to sense the change too and silently began to conjure tiny balls of soft yellow light that rested between the branches while she wound the silver garland around the tree. When it was done, they topped the display with a star that was enchanted to glow and took a seat on the sofa. They extinguished the rest of the lights in the flat so the tree looked positively mesmerizing, twinkling and casting shadows.

The room was silent except for the fire crackling and soft instrumental music drifting from the radio in the corner. Snow had begun to fall outside the dark window and, once again, the rest of the world faded away.

“Fred,” Hermione started tentatively, taking a sip from her nearly empty wine glass and steeling herself, “can I tell you something? Something I haven’t told anyone else yet?”

“Of course,” he responded immediately, looking a bit concerned as he turned toward her. She chewed the edge of her lip for a moment before speaking again.

“A couple weeks ago… I asked Draco about adopting Charlotte.”

Fred’s eyebrows shot into his hairline for a moment and Hermione held her breath.

“Wow, I didn’t know you were… that’s brilliant Hermione.”

“Really?” she looked sideways, searching his face for any hint of the doubt she’d been feeling about the decision.

“Absolutely,” he affirmed, forcefully stuffing down the tidal wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. While he knew she was telling him this in confidence, as friends, he couldn’t help but feel it was a way of saying ‘not right now’ to what had nearly just happened between them. “I can’t think of someone that would be a better mum to her. To any kid really.”

“I don’t know the first thing about being a mum,” she admitted, staring a hole in the coffee table and twisting the stem of her glass between her fingers. She’d been debating the prospect for weeks and, while she didn’t have any doubts that she would love the little girl, she wasn’t sure if she could be everything Charlotte would need her to be.

“Hermione, I’ve known you for nearly fifteen years now. I’ve never met anyone more determined to do something, and do it well, once they set their mind to it.”

“I’m not supposed to take her until the new year,” she said, shifting to curl her legs beneath her, “and Draco hasn’t mentioned anything to her about it yet. We agreed to wait until after Christmas so I had time to be sure.”

“If it’s what you want, then I think you should do it.”

Hermione couldn’t help but feel that her decision about this came at a cost.

“I’m scared,” she admitted, “I would be doing it on my own. Harry and Ginny have their own lives, Ron has his family, my parents are… and even Theo is getting serious with Neville.”

“Geez, way to wound a guy,” Fred joked, bumping her shoulder with his.

“I didn’t mean – I didn’t want to assume –“

“For someone so intelligent, you’re being thick. Don’t tell my half-dozen siblings, but besides George you’re the most important person in my life Hermione. Of course I’ll help you.”

She looked over at him to find that he was looking at the tree again, lights twinkling in his eyes, but she couldn’t ignore that there was a hint of disappointment on his face. And there it was, the thing she had been dreading; the reason she’d been ignoring whatever it was between them.

Hermione wasn’t stupid, she didn’t need Theo to point out that there _was_ , in fact, something between them. Or, at the very least, the possibility of something.

He was her friend, of course he would help and support her, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be in a relationship with someone that had a child. And Hermione couldn’t be upset about that because it was an absolutely understandable stance. Fred had frequently talked about wanting his own children, of course he wouldn’t be interested in a ready-made family with an eight-year-old and an overweight cat. 

Furthermore, Hermione wouldn’t be able to make their relationship the priority if she did this, at least not for a while. And that wasn’t fair to him. Fred deserved the world, not whatever attention she was able to spare.

“Thank you, Fred,” she said, trying to impart as much genuine appreciation for him as she possibly could in the words. 

She scooted over and let her head rest on his shoulder, feeling his cheek settle on top of it a second later. And as the snow fell outside and the night grew colder still, for a few blissful moments she ignored that it was unfair and simply let herself be enveloped in his warmth.


	4. Chapter 4

“You suck,” Theo said factually, setting his tea back on the table between them.

“Hey!” Hermione protested, giving him a pointed look. “I didn’t tell you about Charlotte to garner verbal abuse, thank you very much.”

“You talked to Drake about this _weeks ago_ and you couldn’t have mentioned it to me? You see me every day! I’m your best friend, center of your universe, the light in your very bleak little life. How could you not tell me?!”

“If you keep it up, all you’re going to be is my ex-coworker.”

She stirred her tea and set the spoon on the saucer beside her cup. It was Saturday afternoon and they were waiting for Luna to show up so they could head to London for some holiday shopping. The three of them, and occasionally Ginny, had become something of a clique since Theo started working at the academy and Luna began dating Draco, both of which happened about a year and a half ago.

Hermione and Luna were having lunch at The Leaky Cauldron summer before last when the head of the Malfoy family wandered in with Theo. Having buried the hatchet long ago, Hermione invited them to join and introduced Luna, unsure if they had met before.

That was when, all in one breath, Luna said they hadn’t met, but they were supposed to, began chattering about blibbering humdingers for a moment, and then invited Draco to dinner with her that night. Positively befuddled, he accepted, and, whatever happened on that date, they had been together ever since.

Hermione didn’t think he understood what Luna was saying half the time, but he was clearly besotted, and Luna always referred to their relationship as if it were preordained and she had simply been biding her time and waiting for him to morph into a decent human being.

He still ran the orphanage with his mother, and she edited The Quibbler from Ottery Saint Catchpole, but Luna spent more time at Malfoy House than not, doing art projects with the kids and organizing creature-hunting excursions on the grounds.

Putting aside that their pairing made absolutely zero sense on the surface, they were bizarrely well-suited for one another. He was still cynical and quick to judge, and she was… well, Luna.

“Sorry I’m late!” the blonde witch said, hurrying into Hermione’s kitchen and brushing soot off her aggressively patterned poinsettia skirt. “One of the children had a wrackspurt infestation that we had to get taken care of right away. Very serious.”

“That’s okay Luna,” Hermione assured her, pouring another cup of tea, “we aren’t in any rush. Theo and I were just talking about –“

“About her betrayal,” Theo interjected, still pouting.

“Oh! You’ve told him then.”

“Luna knew?!”

“She was at the orphanage when I talked to Draco!” Hermione defended.

“That’s it. I’m done. Have fun with your obese cat and your new kid and all your friends that know you soooo much better than I do.”

He got up to leave in a dramatic showing before Luna shot a light stinging hex at his leg, making him fall back into the chair and thoroughly shocking all present. Even Felix, who was sitting on the armchair in the other room, stopped licking himself for a moment.

“Theodore Nott, you stop that right now,” she demanded, usually airy voice taking on a sharp edge. “Hermione is making a gigantic, life altering decision and she isn’t under any obligation to discuss it with you, or anyone else, until she feels prepared to do so.”

Theo simply blinked at her for a moment, gobsmacked, before turning to Hermione and muttering an apology.

“Anyway,” Luna said when he quieted again, dropping a sugar cube into her cup and turning to Hermione, “how did Fred take it?”

“He was great,” she replied with a bit of a sigh, “really supportive.”

“Just supportive?” Theo asked, forgetting his annoyance in the wake of juicer gossip.

“Well, yeah… it’s not like I expected him to make some sweeping declaration about how he’ll co-parent with me. In truth, he seemed a little disappointed.”

“I’m sure he was just surprised,” Luna reasoned.

“I don’t know… it felt like he closed up. I don’t blame him, truly. He wants his own family, not the patchwork quilt that I’m offering.”

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Theo chimed in. “You said that Drake hasn’t even spoken to Charlotte about it yet.”

“I won’t,” Hermione said resolutely. “I can’t explain it. She’s like a mix of the socially awkward child that I used to be, the bookish witch that I was at Hogwarts, and the parentless adult I am now. I just feel like I can give her the support that _I_ needed, that my own parents didn’t know how to offer. Does that make sense?”

“Of course,” Luna said, reaching over to squeeze Hermione’s hand. “You never know, Fred could surprise you.”

They sat in silence for a moment, finishing their respective drinks before Theo smacked his hand on the table and stood up, rubbing his leg where Luna hexed him and shooting her a look.

“Well, you two have successfully bummed me out and destroyed my excitement about holiday shopping. Let’s go see how many galleons it takes to fill the void, shall we?”

Luna giggled and Hermione rolled her eyes, levitating the tea set onto the kitchen counter and summoning her cloak.

oOoOoOo

“I still think you should go back and buy them,” Theo said, popping a piece of caramel corn in his mouth as the three of them trekked down Diagon Alley, sidestepping droves of people.

“They were expensive,” Hermione sighed. “I’m good for it, but I don’t want to make him feel bad if he got me something simpler.”

“I thought they were charming,” Luna chimed in, grabbing a handful of caramel corn and rolling her eyes when Theo whined. “And you could engrave them yourself.”

They had just left a booth set up outside of Magical Menagerie that was selling all manner of animal-themed, handmade jewelry, including a pair of magpie cufflinks; Fred’s Patronus. They were beautifully crafted and made of a mix of metals to indicate the blue and white patterns on the bird.

They’d just rounded the corner when they ran into Pansy Flint née Parkinson, dragging a little boy by the wrist away from Sugar Plum’s Sweets Shop. Hermione seriously debated turning around and taking another route, but Pansy caught sight of them before she had the chance.

“Oh look, if it isn’t the Gryffindor Princess here to walk among us mortals,” she sneered, shushing her now-crying child. Pansy hadn’t changed much since school in either appearance or demeanor, her nose as squashed and hair as severely cut as it ever was.

“Hello Pansy,” Luna said with a smile, completely disregarding the tone of the conversation.

“Still running that abomination of a school, I hear,” she spat at Hermione, ignoring Luna’s greeting completely.

Pansy had been, and still was, one of the most outspoken members of pureblood society against the opening of The Marauder’s Academy. At this point, that meant one or two editorials in The Prophet each year, droning on about the dangers of introducing muggle-born children to magic early (read ‘at all’).

“Yes, it’s doing quite well,” Hermione said in a conversational tone, electing to take the high road. “As I’ve told you many times before, you are welcome to enroll Courtland any time you’d like.”

She shot a sympathetic look at the poor kid, hat askew and pudgy face streaked with tears.

“Why don’t you just do us all a favor and snap your wand, you stupid –“

“And that’s enough of that,” Theo said, sending a silencing charm at Pansy, whose mouth continued to move without any words coming out. Courtland looked up at Theo with wide-eyed wonder, as if he’d just watched him hang the moon. “Be gone tiresome shrew, go spew your bile elsewhere.”

He flicked his wrist, as if he could physically will her from their presence, and looped arms with Hermione and Luna, pulling them forward and leaving Pansy red-faced and soundlessly shrieking behind them. 

“You know she’ll have something in tomorrow’s paper about how you assaulted her, don’t you?” Hermione asked in a tired voice.

“I’m still feeling a little down… maybe I’ll see how many galleons it takes to make that problem go away as well,” he replied, offering her the bag of caramel corn, which she accepted.

“Can we stop at WWW?” Hermione asked. “I haven’t seen Angie since the baby shower and she’s due in just a few weeks.”

They took another turn and headed toward the brightly colored shop at the end of the alley that Hermione had grown so familiar with over the years.

Hogwarts was still in session, so the store wasn’t quite packed yet, but there was a decent crowd milling about when they entered and rang the bell over the door.

“Hermione!” Angelina called in greeting from behind the counter, having just handed a bag of goods to a middle-aged witch. Theo and Luna waved and then peeled off toward a selection of new products. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to see you, of course! My gosh, you look fit to burst,” Hermione joked, awkwardly hugging around her enormous baby-bump.

“Yeah, well, wouldn’t you believe they told me at the last appointment that I am carrying not one, but _two_ Weasley babies?”

“You mean –“

“Twins,” she confirmed, “and already just as much trouble as the current set.”

“I do believe my ears are burning,” George said, appearing from behind the storeroom door and levitating several crates.

“Hi George,” Hermione managed to choke out around her laughter. His hair was currently electric blue and standing on end. “Product testing?”

“Still sharp as a tack, you are,” he joked, setting down the boxes and coming around the counter to hug her tightly. Like his brother he smelled faintly of gunpowder, but rather than the earthy spices she associated with Fred, George’s scent was more citrusy.

“How have you been?” Angie asked as George excused himself to help a customer that was trying to flag him down. At that moment Verity walked in, presumably from her lunch, and insisted on taking over the till, shooing the pair of witches toward two chairs against the wall.

“I’ve been great,” Hermione said once they’d settled, “Fred actually came by the academy yesterday to help me with the student’s holiday crafts.”

“So I heard; he dropped in this morning to pick up some inventory and he mentioned it.”

“Did he say anything else?” Hermione asked innocently, unable to contain her curiosity. She hadn’t explicitly requested that Fred not tell anyone about Charlotte, but he probably hadn’t anyway.

“No, should he have?”

“Can you keep a secret?” Hermione asked after a pause. “You can tell George, but I would prefer not to let the whole Weasley clan in just yet.”

“Oh my gosh, he finally did it!”

“I’m going to – wait, who did what?”

Angie’s eyes went wide for a moment.

“Nothing. Pregnancy brain. What were you saying?”

“Angelina, what were you talking about?” Hermione pressed.

“Erm… I’m not supposed to say anything.”

“Did you take an unbreakable vow?”

“Goodness no, nothing like that.”

“Magnificent, then tell me.”

The witch played her hands nervously over her stomach and shot a longing look at George’s back, as if he might come save her. When no rescue attempt was made, she sighed and turned back to Hermione.

“Well, I had it on good authority that Fred was finally going to ask you out,” Angelina admitted.

Hermione sighed and wiped her hands over her face, groaning and wanting nothing more than to sink into the earth and disappear forever.

“Yeah, I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“Oh no, why? Do you not… you two have always seemed so right for each other. We’d all sort of concluded it was inevitable after he ended things with Katie and the two of you started spending more time together.”

“No, I do,” Hermione said quickly, “I definitely do, but it’s much more complicated than that.”

“It almost always is. What’s going on? Is there someone else?”

“Yeah. An eight-year-old girl that is going to be moving in with me come the new year.”

“Oh.” Angelina’s lips made a little circle as she plopped back against the chair. “One of the Malfoy orphans?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, expression softening as she lifted her head. “She’s a very sweet kid named Charlotte. No parents to speak of, and not a great background. But she’s smart and she loves books and I adore her.”

“And you don’t think Fred is interested in two for the price of one? It’s sort of a recurring theme in his family, you know. And they take in strays, just look at Harry.”

“I don’t know… I just don’t think I can ask that of him.”

Angelina gave her a sympathetic look, but before she could say anything else Theo and Luna appeared behind Hermione.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Luna said with an apologetic expression. “I have to be getting back, the holiday issue of The Quibbler is going to print tomorrow and I have to look over the final layout.”

“And I have a newspaper editor to bribe,” Theo added with an evil little smirk.

“I should get going too,” Hermione sighed, helping to pull Angie to her feet, whose off-kilter center of gravity was working hard against her.

“Give him a chance, yeah?” Angelina said in a hushed tone, placing a hand on Hermione’s arm. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about the Weasley twins, it’s not to underestimate them. Also, not to accept any sort of food or drink from them.”

“Do you ever say anything nice about me when I’m not around?” George complained, coming up behind her and looping his arms around her belly.

“Nope,” she replied with a cheeky smirk, turning her head to kiss him on the cheek.

“Did you invite them to the party next weekend?”

“Oh, no, I completely forgot! Okay, this one actually _was_ pregnancy brain.”

“Party?” Theo asked, ears perking up.

“We’re having a holiday party next Saturday,” George explained, “you should all come by. Starts at seven and hideous jumpers are compulsory.”

“Can I bring Draco?” Luna asked, head tilted to the side a bit in thought.

“Sure! The more the merrier. Just make sure you each bring something for the gift exchange if you want to play, five galleons or less.”

“Sounds like fun,” Hermione said with a smile. Perhaps she could take this Christmas to start new traditions, ones that didn’t make her quite so melancholy.

With a few more parting words, the trio found themselves on the sidewalk in front of the shop.

“I’ll see you next weekend,” Luna said, leaning in to give Hermione a quick hug before taking a few steps away and apparating.

“I’m not hugging you, I’ll see you Monday for Circe’s sake,” Theo said, rolling his eyes and turning on his heel, striding toward the office building that contained The Daily Prophet.

Hermione rocked in place for a moment before making up her mind and heading off to buy a pair of aviary themed cufflinks.

oOoOoOo

It was later that night and Hermione had been pacing back and forth across the floor of her small home library for the better part of an hour, slowly chewing her thumb nail to a bloody stump. She could hear Luna and Angelina chirping in her head, ‘maybe he’ll surprise you’ and ‘give him a chance.’

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to ‘give him a chance,’ she just didn’t want him to feel like he was obligated to do anything; that is, if he was even still interested. Which he very likely wasn’t.

She stopped and looked at Felix on the chair, as if he might impart some wisdom, but he just rolled over and shut his eyes. Typical.

“Fuck it all,” she huffed, grabbing a scrap of parchment and a quill from her desk and jotting down a quick note.

_Dinner and holiday baking at mine tomorrow?  
\- H_

Before she could second guess herself, she strode over to Artemis’ open cage on the windowsill and gently prodded her tawny owl awake. 

“Can you take this to Fred?”

Artemis perked up immediately, knowing full well that Fred had a tendency to let her over-indulge in treats. She quickly clipped the folded note in her beak and took off through the open, albeit warded, window.

Not twenty minutes had passed before the owl swooped back in and deposited a different folded piece of parchment in her lap. Artemis looked inordinately pleased with herself as she resumed the spot on her perch and began preening.

_I’ll be there by seven.  
\- F_


	5. Chapter 5

“150 grams of sugar…” Hermione muttered, measuring out the requisite amount and dumping it into the mixing bowl in front of her.

“Hermione, are you home?” a voice rang out from the fireplace in the next room.

“Yep, floo is open, come on in!”

A minute later Harry walked into the kitchen, scourgifying the soot from his jumper.

“Hello love,” he said, dropping a kiss on her cheek before conjuring a stool to sit at the counter. “What are you up to?”

“Making dough for biscuits.”

“And what’s the occasion?”

“Fred is coming over in a bit for dinner and holiday baking.”

“Dinner and holiday baking, eh? Is that what the kids are calling it?” he waggled his eyebrows and grabbed an errant chocolate chip from the counter, popping it in his mouth.

“Why does everyone do that? I can be platonic friends with a man. And have a platonic dinner with him. And bake some Merlin-be-damned platonic biscuits.”

“And _do you_ have platonic feelings for Freddie-boy?”

Hermione paused her stirring for a split second before resuming.

“Piss off. What are you doing here anyway, isn’t Ginny home for the holidays?”

“Yeah, I actually came to invite you to Sunday roast at The Burrow tonight, but _clearly_ you have grander plans.”

He watched her slowly fold chocolate chips into the dough, a pensive expression on her face. She suddenly dropped the spatula and smacked her hands on the counter.

“Harry, am I being crazy here?” she asked in a strangled voice.

“What’s crazy, really?”

“Making four different biscuit doughs, buying a new blouse, and spending two hours braising lamb shanks.”

“Is that what that smell is?”

“Oh God,” she braced her elbows on the counter and dropped her head into her hands.

“Hermione, you’re not being crazy. Anyone with eyes can tell that Fred likes you too.”

“You’re certain?”

“As sure as I’ve ever been of anything.”

“Harry, you had a panic attack on your wedding day!”

The boy-who-lived paused with another chocolate chip halfway to his mouth and seemed to consider this for a moment before he shrugged.

“Love’s a funny thing. I still say Ginny is barmy to have married me.”

Despite all the worry and the stress, Hermione felt the tension in her shoulders ease, and she started laughing in spite of herself. The memory of Ron and Neville in formalwear, holding Harry down so she could dose him with a calming draught, was just too entertaining.

“Okay… okay, but you need to get out of here because I have a little over an hour to finish this dough and get dressed.”

“Say no more – and try to relax, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll do that, now scram,” she said, swatting him with a towel.

He gave her a quick hug and departed as quickly as he’d come. Hermione turned back to her dough, finishing stirring it before wrapping the top in plastic and placing it in the fridge. She quickly cleared the counter and got everything put back in cupboards, finally removing her apron and heading upstairs to change.

Hermione tried on over a half-dozen outfits before getting annoyed and just slipping into a pair of jeans and a faded grey Gryffindor t-shirt. She threw the newly purchased blouse on the chair in the corner; baking with sleeves on was a pain anyway. She took a bit more care with her hair and makeup, carefully braiding the front back on either side and fastening it with a pin before swiping on a bit of mascara and dabbing her lips with a tinted balm. She donned a pair of little spherical silver stud earrings and called it a day, heading back downstairs as it was nearly seven now.

When the floo roared to life fifteen minutes later, the lamb shanks were out of the oven and Hermione was slowly streaming cream into a pot of semi-mashed potatoes.

“Darling, I’m home,” Fred joked, walking into the room and carrying a small box with the flaps folded down. Hermione felt foolish smiling at the affection, but she couldn’t stop the corners of her lips turning up.

“Hello dear, how was work?” she asked, playing along.

“Dreadful,” he said seriously, dropping into the stool Harry had failed to vanish. “I’m convinced that nobody in their right mind works in retail during the holidays.”

“I’ve always said you were mental,” Hermione said, finishing the potatoes and placing them on the stove beside the pot of lamb. “Grab a plate, we have to eat so we can get to baking. I’ve prepared doughs for chocolate chip, ginger, double chocolate and rolled sugar biscuits.”

“Blimey Hermione, how many do you think we’re going to eat?”

She laughed as she retrieved silverware from a drawer. “I’m taking them to the school with me tomorrow – Theo and I are doing joint classes Monday and Tuesday since we’ll only have a little over a dozen students. By the way, what’s in the box?”

Rather than clearing off the table, which was stacked with papers and assignments she needed to grade over the break, she conjured another stool and sat beside him at the counter with her plate and gestured at the crate with her fork.

“Funny you should ask – I may or may not have gotten some books for the orphanage. This is spectacular by the way,” he complimented, taking an enormous bite of his food.

“Fred, that’s so sweet!”

“I mean, I am pretty amazing,” he teased, getting up to refill his already dwindling plate.

“Not that I’m not perpetually thrilled about being in the presence of books, but why did you bring them over here?”

“I figured you’d see Malfoy before I would, no?” he asked, back turned to her as he stood in front of the stove.

“Actually, we’ll both see him Saturday at George and Angie’s.”

“What?” Fred asked in a surprised tone, spinning toward her and knocking the potato-covered spoon that was resting on the counter to the floor.

“Fred,” she laughed, not noticing the panic on his face and drawing her wand to vanish the mess. When she settled back into her seat, she picked up her fork and was surprised to find he hadn’t moved at all. “What’s the matter?”

“You’re going to the party this weekend?”

“I mean, yeah… is that not okay?”

He was acting odd and it was making her anxious. Was he so turned off her that he didn’t even want to see her? That didn’t make any sense considering his accepting her invitation tonight, and it seemed far too vindictive for Fred. Even if they wouldn’t work out as a couple, she didn’t think he’d want to cut her out completely.

“No, it’s – uh, I just didn’t think you were going to be there. You never go to holiday parties.”

“Yeah, I thought I’d try something new,” she said quietly, trying to mask the hurt in her voice. Do not cry, she scolded herself.

“Hey, I didn’t mean… I’m glad you’re going to be there,” he said quickly, crossing the kitchen and wearing a deeply troubled expression. “I just already agreed to go with someone is all.”

Oh. Well, Luna and Angie were right. He had certainly surprised her.

“Oh,” she said lamely, brows pulling together for a split second. He certainly hadn’t wasted any time. She thought of the preparation she’d put into getting ready for their evening together and began to feel silly before chastising herself. She was still allowed to make plans with a friend.

“I’m sorry –“ he began in earnest before she cut him off.

“That’s wonderful,” she said in her best imitation of excitement. Years of being in the public eye had morphed her into a proficient actress and she dug deep into that skill set, plastering a smile on her face. “Who’s the lucky witch?”

“Erm… Verity,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

“Well that makes sense,” Hermione said, picking up her half-finished plate and discarding the scraps before placing it in the sink. “You two make a very handsome couple.”

“It’s not exactly –“

“Which cookie do you want to make first?” she asked loudly, feeling bad about talking over him but not having any interest in lingering on the topic. Of course, it was Verity. She was leggy and blonde and, most importantly, not on the fast-track to being someone’s mum. 

“I guess we can start with the gingerbread,” he said a bit reluctantly, sensing her desire to change the topic. “They’re my –“

“Favorite,” they said in unison. They locked eyes for a moment and Hermione offered a crooked smile before quickly looking away.

She flicked her wand at the oven and switched it back on, turning to the fridge and ducking in to grab the dough. She paused for a moment with her face hidden and sucked in a breath of frigid air before straightening and turning back toward him.

“So, I can’t believe Angie’s having twins…”

oOoOoOo

“Are you sure you don’t want to take more?” Hermione asked late that evening. It was after ten and they had decided to call it a night, every single surface of the kitchen and dining room covered in trays and tins of biscuits.

“Absolutely not,” he said, shaking his head and balancing two packed boxes in one hand. “As it is, I could eat biscuits every meal from now until the new year and still have some left over.”

They stopped in front of the fireplace and Hermione was struck with how similar it was to a few days prior in the lobby of the academy. Except there wasn’t a question anymore. As Theo had so aptly put it, that ship had set sail and Hermione was still standing on the dock.

“So, five o’clock on Wednesday?” she asked, secretly cursing her offer to help at the shop. It wasn’t that she wanted to leave him high and dry, but perhaps a bit of separation would help her come to terms with the fact that their timing just didn’t seem to be right.

“Yeah,” he said, seemingly searching her face for something, “last chance to back out, you know.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, summoning another smile. Her cheeks were beginning to hurt.

They stood there for a moment, each desperately wanting the other to say something and both remaining absolutely silent.

“Well, good night Hermione,” he said finally, ducking and placing a chaste kiss on her cheek.

“Night Fred,” she said, shifting back so he could step into the fireplace. As the emerald flames engulfed him and faded again, Hermione finally released the mask she’d kept carefully in place all evening and let the tears begin to fall.


	6. Chapter 6

“It was dreadful,” Hermione said softly to Theo the next morning as the children began to settle in. They were all in his classroom today with only about fifteen students in attendance exactly one week prior to Christmas.

“Want me to kill him for you?” Theo said, taking a sip from the mug that he was clutching as if it were a lifeline. “I mean, not me-me, but I could probably pay someone to do it.”

“Aww, thanks. No, I’m not – yes, good morning Lucy – I’m not mad at him. Or… I don’t know, maybe I am, but he certainly didn’t do anything to deserve it.”

“Whatever you say, darling. Hey, I was thinking about it, I’m more than capable of handling the kids this week if you want to take a minute to yourself before Wednesday.”

“Thanks Theo, but I don’t think going home and wallowing with Felix is the best call. I’ll go batty. Did you want to take the week? You’re right, there’s not even a full class here.”

“Nah; Neville is still working through Wednesday, and it’s not like I have much else – Henry, drop that bottle of paste _right now_! – going on.”

Hermione glanced at the clock and noted that it was nearly ten. The class was comprised almost entirely of students from Malfoy House. Draco had owled earlier in the week and said this might be the case, but if she wouldn’t mind playing daycare so they could finish getting the manor set up for the holiday next week, he would appreciate it. So, daycare it was.

Hermione saw Charlotte to the side, on her own as usual, and nodded at Theo before drifting over. She sank down so she was kneeling beside the desk.

“Good morning Charlotte,” Hermione said in a pleasant voice, “are you ready for Christmas next week?”

“Good morning Miss Granger. I think so – Mr. Malfoy said we’ll get some presents, and that the elves will make special meals all day long.”

Hermione’s previous offense on behalf of the Malfoy house elves had long faded. Draco had actually attempted to free all of them after learning about the history of slavery in his muggle studies classes, but once they’d learned about his plans to open the orphanage, they adamantly refused to leave, no matter how many socks he bestowed. Though Hermione routinely asked after them when she visited, they assured her that they couldn’t be happier caring for “their kids.”

Hermione noticed a little frown on Charlotte’s face as she watched the other students mill about.

“What’s wrong dear? You look sad.”

The girl’s lips twisted a bit, as if she wasn’t sure what to say, or perhaps whether or not she should say it.

“Miss Luna and Mr. Malfoy told my best friend Rachel yesterday that she’s getting adopted.”

Rachel Krantz was another of the orphans, but a year younger and still in Theo’s group.

“Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Hermione asked, obviously curious what her take was on the topic.

“I guess so… but she has to leave the manor. She didn’t even come to school today so she could spend time with her new mummy. What if she never comes back?”

“I don’t think her new mummy would stop her from coming to school. And I know it might make you sad that Rachel won’t live with you anymore, but I think we should be happy for her. I’m sure she’s very excited.”

Charlotte was twisting her hands together nervously, and there were several beats of silence before she spoke again.

“What if I never get adopted and get a new mummy like Rachel did, Miss Granger? What if nobody wants me?” she asked quietly, and Hermione’s heart nearly shattered. This tiny human had already endured so much hardship in her short life, had had to take care of herself because nobody else did.

In that moment, if she hadn’t already before, Hermione decided it wasn’t up for debate. She was going to adopt Charlotte, and she was going to work very hard to be the mother that the little girl deserved.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that Charlotte. You are a wonderful person, and anyone would be lucky to call you their daughter.”

“Do you really think so? I know that I read a lot, and I’m not very good at talking to people… and Rachel says I snore.”

“Do you want to know a secret?” Hermione asked in a conspiratorial voice, leaning in so their heads were almost touching.

“Yeah,” Charlotte whispered, wide-eyed.

“I snore too,” Hermione admitted with a wry smile. Charlotte grinned and giggled; Hermione placed a finger over her lips in a shushing motion, which just made the girl laugh harder.

“Alright, that’s enough, let’s quiet down everyone,” Theo said, having taken up position at the front of the room. Hermione stayed crouched but tipped her head so the children looked toward him. “Now I know that Christmas will be here soon, and we are all terribly excited, but this is still a school.”

There was a collective grumble across the class and Hermione had to fight back a smile.

“I said this is still a school,” Theo continued, “and as such Miss Granger and I have come up with a very special cultural project for all of you. Now, who here has heard of Frosty the Snowman?”

oOoOoOo

“I’ll never get used to muggle entertainment,” Theo said quietly to her as they sat in the back of the room passing a tin of holiday biscuits between them while the projector played the ending of the movie. Santa had just returned with the reanimated Frosty on Christmas Day. “The vast majority of it is positively horrifying.”

“Yeah, you’re right, wizarding folklore is much more upbeat. Let’s not forget the bedtime story about the three brothers that made an agreement with _Death_.”

Theo paused for a moment, arched an eyebrow, and then tipped his head in acknowledgement of her point.

“Let’s take them outside after lunch – it snowed last night and they can tire themselves out playing in it.”

“See, this is why I keep you around,” Hermione said, placing the lid back on the tin and stashing it on his desk as the credits began to roll. She flicked her wand and shut off the projector, heading to the front of the room. “Let’s all eat our lunches and then we can go out and play in the snow, how does that sound?”

She was met with collective enthusiasm as they dug out their lunch pails and paper sacks. Thirty minutes later everyone was bundled up and playing in the small courtyard to the side of the school; not surprisingly, most of the children broke into groups and began constructing their own snowmen. Theo was on the other side of the plot casting a warming charm on a bench he’d conjured.

“What did they think of Frosty?” a familiar voice said from behind her shoulder. Hermione pulled in a deep breath before turning to see Fred, clad in a blue hat and scarf that matched his eyes perfectly, because of course they did, holding out a steaming mug of cocoa to her in one hand while grasping a second one in the other.

“They loved it of course,” she said, accepting the cup and smiling in thanks. “Theo was a bit disturbed though. He kept referring to Frosty’s hat as a ‘dark artefact.’”

“Ah well, muggle cartoons can be jarring at first to our sensitive wizardly temperaments.”

She huffed out a laugh and tried to ignore the nagging ache in her chest as she thought back to their conversation the night before. This was neither the time nor the place to dwell on that.

“How’d you manage to escape the shop?”

“Jeremy is keeping an eye on things for a few minutes. I saw you all come out and couldn’t resist stopping over to say hello; it looked like far too much fun to be had without me.”

She turned to reply, but spotted Charlotte near the wall of the building behind his shoulder, crouched and shaping a small sphere of snow between her mittened hands with a look of ardent concentration on her face.

Hermione pulled out her wand and twirled it dexterously, rolling together a larger ball of snow that came rest at the girl’s feet. Fred, catching on, did the same with a slightly smaller one and levitated it to rest on top of Hermione’s, creating a small divot at the top for the head that Charlotte was holding. She gave them a surprised, toothy grin before setting it on top.

Fred looked from Charlotte to Hermione and then back and, with a mischievous glint in his eye, vanished his cup and bent to pick up a handful of snow, beginning to shape it into another sphere about the size of a fist. He started to back away and it took Hermione a moment to realize what he was doing, which she took to quickly vanish her own nearly-empty mug.

“Fred Weasley, don’t you dare –“

Before the word completely left her mouth, she was pelted in the stomach with a ball of fluffy white snow that exploded on impact.

“Oh, you’re done for!” she shouted with a laugh, bending to scoop up her own ammunition and whipping it in his direction where it hit his shoulder and sent a spray of frozen water into his face. Within moments, a mass snowball fight broke out across the courtyard. Theo hopped up and conjured a low wall made of ice, pulling the younger children behind it and arming them with a pile of perfectly round snowballs that they tossed clumsily into the fray, giggling uncontrollably.

Fred threw another at Hermione and missed, leaving her an opening to bombard him in rapid succession with two in return. Charlotte, following suit, lobbed one in his direction and struck him in the back of the head and knocked his hat off, his ginger hair darkening to a coppery color under the condensation. The girl froze for a moment with a terrified look on her face, apparently worried she had hurt him, until Fred laughed loudly and countered with another, purposely aiming low and hitting her in the legs.

They carried on like that for perhaps ten minutes until everyone was red-faced and soaked to the bone.

“Truce, truce!” Fred finally shouted, he and Charlotte having taken cover behind a small mound of snow with Hermione across from them, hiding behind the trunk of a large beech tree. Everyone in the courtyard came to a stop, merrily shouting and laughing.

“Come on, let’s get all of you dried off before you catch cold,” Theo said loudly, shaking water from his curls and motioning for the children to head toward him and back into the building. He began to cast drying and warming charms on them as they passed.

Charlotte started to follow but then stopped and bounded back toward Fred and Hermione.

“Thank you, Mr. Fred!” she exclaimed with a wide grin, quickly wrapping her arms around his waist and then turning and taking off toward her classmates before he had a chance to react.

“She really is a special little girl Hermione,” he said with a crooked smile as he watched her leave, turning toward the witch and, noting that she was shivering, casting a drying charm on her coat and gloves.

“Well she was right to thank you,” Hermione said, responding in kind by drying Fred’s trousers and coat. “I haven’t taken part in a snowball fight since we were at Hogwarts.”

“Do you remember the absolute war we had your first year when we got that blizzard?”

“How could I forget? You kept hitting Quirrell in the back of his turban. You know, it occurred to me later that you were literally throwing snowballs in Voldemort’s face.”

Fred’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Sweet Salazar, I didn’t realize… that’s brilliant.”

Hermione just shook her head and smiled. She should have known that would be his response.

“I should be getting back to the shop,” Fred said after a pause. His eyes connected with hers and there was that feeling again. Like there should be more to their good-bye than just words.

“Yeah, of course… I’ll see you Wednesday then?”

“Wednesday,” he nodded.

Hermione rocked uncertainly on her heels for a moment before finally breaking away and heading to the door where Theo was drying off his own clothing. She turned to see Fred still watching her with a somewhat perplexed look on his face before ducking inside.

“Oh sure,” Theo said, shaking his head at the two of them as he followed her in, “you’re just friends. No danger there.”

oOoOoOo

Hermione arrived home that night and, after depositing her things in the front closet, headed straight upstairs and toward the spare bedroom down the hall from her own. She flicked on the light and stepped in.

It was mostly boxes of odds and ends from her parents’ home, things she had purposely packed away with the hope that not seeing them regularly would dull the frayed edges of that particular wound. But as she spun and took in the space, it seemed more like a possibility for the future than a shrine to her rather painful past.

She let out a sigh. It was going to take a bit of work to make it into a livable space for Charlotte, and she’d have to buy furniture and paint, but nevertheless she rolled up her sleeves and started in.


	7. Chapter 7

Wednesday afternoon found Hermione curled on the sofa and grading essays on the basics of potions safety. She glanced at the clock again. There were still two hours until she needed to be at the shop and her bloody neck was starting to ache from compulsively turning to check the time every fifteen minutes.

She sighed and plopped the stack of papers to the side; she had over two weeks to grade them, there really wasn’t any rush to get it done. She had managed to get the spare room mostly cleared out, and she and Theo had tag-teamed deep cleaning the school after the children departed the afternoon of the day prior. Tuesday had been much more subdued than Monday, most of the class content to read and catch up on homework, or color and draw quietly.

She’d stalled a bit on the bedroom project now that the space was essentially empty, deciding to finish it after Christmas. It wasn’t that she didn’t have time; her nerves about Fred and the party and bringing Charlotte home were banding together to create a gigantic knot of anxiety in her stomach that said, in as many words, ‘one thing at a time.’

Besides, she also needed to figure out what exactly to do with the space. Leaving it a blank slate seemed transient – as if she didn’t expect the girl to stay, and that certainly wasn’t the atmosphere she wanted to create. But decorating it a certain way made it feel as if she were trying to force a role on Charlotte, and that didn’t feel right either.

After languishing for another twenty minutes over how to spend the rest of her afternoon, Hermione resigned to just go into the shop early. She’d need a quick tutorial on what she would be helping with anyway.

She threw on a pair of jeans and boots with a plain black jumper and headed out the door after giving Felix a scritch on the head and making sure his bowl was full. As Hermione neared the shop, she slowed upon seeing a line out the door of students in Hogwarts robes.

She debated trying to push her way through the crowd but quickly decided against it and instead apparated into the storeroom in the basement, knowing Fred’s wards were adjusted to allow her in and out of the building freely.

“Hermione!” he exclaimed in response to her popping into existence five feet away from him. He clutched his chest and nearly tripped into a crate of skiving snack boxes. “What are you doing here?”

“I didn’t have anything to do, so I thought I would come early; what the bloody hell is going on up there? Are you giving products away for free?”

“Minnie apparently decided to allow a visit to Hogsmeade before the train leaves tomorrow morning – you’d think she’d have the decency to warn me, right?”

“Okay… okay, it’s nearly four and they’ll have to be back at the castle by six. How long has it been like this? Why didn’t you owl me?”

He started setting boxes of products to the side to be brought upstairs, which she neatly stacked and levitated.

“Hermione, wand to my head, I couldn’t tell you my middle name right now,” he said as he gave her a desperate look. “Can you bring those boxes up and help Jeremy with the till? I’m half-convinced he’s going to abandon ship.”

“On it,” she said, heading up the steps quickly with the crates in tow before throwing over her shoulder, “and your middle name is Gideon.” She emerged behind the counter and set the boxes beside the door for Fred to restock.

“Oh, thank Merlin!” Jeremy cried upon seeing her. He was a tall, lanky boy with a shock of dark blonde hair and a scar under his right eye that he once tried to tell her was from fighting a manticore. After very little pressing, he’d admitted it was actually from a spill off of his broom when he was nine. “Can you please show these two where the trick wands are?”

“Of course,” Hermione said, smiling at the pair of grinning fourteen-year-old boys, “right this way.”

The next several hours passed in a blur. Though the crowd of students disappeared around six as predicted, they were replaced with all manner of other customers; middle aged witches looking for love potions, parents desperately searching for presents for their kids, people trying to find gag gifts for exchanges and holiday office parties.

Before she knew it, it was eight o’clock and Fred was ushering the last customer out the door, wasting no time in locking it and flipping the sign to closed as he did so. He turned around to find that Hermione and Jeremy had disappeared from behind the counter where they had been a moment ago.

“Where did you two-?”

“Down here,” Hermione croaked, sitting beside Jeremy with her legs sprawled in front of her and her back against the wall. Fred came around and had to suppress a laugh at the state of the two of them. “I have never in my whole life been so grateful that I don’t work in retail.”

“I’m debating changing fields,” Jeremy said, running a hand through his already-mussed hair.

“Don’t you dare,” Fred said in a warning tone, “I told you that you aren’t allowed to quit until after the New Year.”

“Do you hear this? Do you hear the way he talks to me?” Jeremy pleaded, turning to Hermione as if she might rescue him from his boss. Hermione snorted and accepted the hand Fred had extended, pulling her to her feet.

“Why don’t you head home Jeremy, I can help Fred close up,” she offered, beginning to walk slowly through the store and reorganize and straighten the products into their proper places. By the time she turned around a moment later the back door was swinging shut and he was gone, leaving Fred leaning against the counter, counting and closing out the drawer.

“I can’t thank you enough for coming in Hermione,” he said, pausing between knuts and sickles. He’d shut off the loop of holiday music that had been playing and the place was blissfully silent.

“I told you I would,” she replied, “though if I’d known what I was getting myself into…”

He looked panicked for a moment before catching her smile and relaxing.

“So, you’ll be back tomorrow?”

“What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.”

They carried on in companionable silence for a while.

“Have you talked to Malfoy yet about Charlotte?” Fred asked, having moved from the cash drawer to restocking the products he hadn’t yet gotten to.

“I was planning to tell him Saturday actually,” she explained, contemplating continuing, “although I’m rethinking going to the party. I may just stop by the orphanage next week.”

“Why wouldn’t you go to the party?” Fred asked, stilling as he counted the number of nose biting teacups on the shelf.

“You know the holidays are difficult,” she hedged, refusing to look in his direction. “I cleared out the spare room yesterday and had to sort through a lot of my parent’s things, and frankly I’m beyond stressed about having to redecorate it for Charlotte.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Fred responded easily, “I’m sure she’ll love whatever you decide to go with. And, for what it’s worth, I think you should go to the party. Stuff like that always seems more intimidating when you’re talking about doing it versus just doing it.”

“I guess you’re right,” she said before asking innocently, “Are you and Verity taking part in the gift exchange?”

It was a weak transition but, as Hermione had just said, she was a glutton for punishment, and she was too curious about how and when their relationship had developed to simply let it go.

“Uh, yeah,” he said quietly, looking distinctly uncomfortable. A tiny, spiteful voice in the back of her head took pleasure in that, but the much louder part of her mind felt bad for even bringing it up. “Are you going with anybody?”

“No,” Hermione said quickly, before adding, “I’m not really in a great place to be dating right now. Obvious reasons and all.”

“Right, of course. Obvious reasons.”

oOoOoOo

The next evening at the shop was much slower; Jeremy even had the opportunity to take a quick break to grab them takeaway from the Three Broomsticks while Hermione watched the counter and Fred circulated, answer questions and directing people.

Though she was careful not to stare, it was positively captivating observing him in his element. While Hermione had always known he was brilliant, OWL scores notwithstanding, seeing Fred run the store was like witnessing a ringmaster direct a circus. He’d answer a question for one customer while, without looking, summoning a portable swamp from the hands of a preteen that was about to set it off. He didn’t even pause or blink. It was the very definition of controlled chaos. 

“Hi Hermione,” a feminine voice said, shaking her from her daze. She looked up to find a pair of light blue eyes framed by long blonde waves looking at her from across the counter.

“Oh, hi Verity,” Hermione replied, offering a tight smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Just swinging by to grab a couple cases of screaming yo-yos; we’re almost out in London and Fred made a bunch last week. How has helping at the shop been?”

 _Awkward and stiff no thanks to you_ , Hermione thought in a moment of uncharacteristic bitterness.

“Not bad at all – though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t prefer my classroom. Somehow it’s much calmer.”

“I believe it,” Verity replied with a laugh, coming around the counter and opening the door to the storeroom before descending the stairs.

Hermione’s lips twisted a bit as she watched the witch’s back. How dare she be genuinely nice on top of looking as if she’d stepped off a runway? It seemed like some sort of universal injustice.

She’d just finished cashing out a pair of teenage girls when Verity reemerged, shrunken crates full of product in hand. “Well, I’ll be off. I have to help George and Angie close up.”

“Sure, have a good night Verity,” Hermione said, not at all sorry to see her go. What on earth had gotten into her? Verity was nice. She liked Verity. Or, at least she had liked Verity before she found out that Fred apparently _really_ liked Verity.

She watched with pursed lips when the blonde stopped to talk to Fred on the way out, who had just finished helping a customer. Hermione couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they were both smiling and when Verity put her hand on Fred’s arm, she felt her eye twitch.

No, this was ridiculous. She was not the type of woman that tore other women down in petty jealousy. No matter how much they ran their stupid, perfectly manicured fingers all over the man that -

“Ma’am? Excuse me? MA’AM?”

“What?” Hermione asked, shaken to see a bespectacled witch standing across the counter from her.

“I asked you how much these cost,” the witch repeated in an annoyed voice, brandishing a package of Loonar Loop Luminators in her face.

“Erm, two galleons apiece or three for five,” Hermione said in a distracted tone, glancing back at Fred to find that Verity had departed. The witch wandered back onto the floor, grumbling about the ‘youth of today.’

“Everything alright, Hermione?” Jeremy asked, having come in through the rear door. He set three boxes of fish and chips on the back counter and conjured a stool, beginning to quickly eat his own portion as he took in her dejected expression and slumped shoulders.

“Just grand,” Hermione replied with a huff, absently straightening the jar of quills and stack of receipts. Jeremy worked with Fred all day, perhaps he would have some insight. She made sure the redheaded wizard was well out of earshot before turning and asking in a hushed tone, “Jeremy, how long have Fred and Verity been seeing each other?”

“Oh, that?” The boy asked through a mouthful of food. He tilted his head in thought. “Dunno. They were talking a lot when she came by the shop last week I guess.”

“Did they seem interested in one another?”

“Interested how?”

“Like… romantically interested.”

“Who’s romantically interested?” Fred asked, having appeared behind her while her back was turned.

“Jeremy,” she answered quickly, not paying attention when the boy in question began to violently choke on a chip. “In a girl. That lives in town. Jeremy is interested in a girl that lives in town.”

“Is he now?” Fred inquired, eyes bright and a grin playing at the corners of his lips. The shop was empty save for the sullen witch from earlier and a small group of preteen boys discussing the merits of each type of trick wand.

“Yep,” Hermione said before quickly changing topics. “Snackboxes are looking a little low, I’ll go grab a few from downstairs.”

She ducked through the doorway and disappeared as quickly as possible, leaving Fred and a watery-eyed, red-faced Jeremy looking at one another across the counter.

“I take it Hermione doesn’t know you’re gay?” Fred asked in an amused tone.


	8. Chapter 8

It was finally Friday night and Jeremy had just headed home, leaving Hermione and Fred alone once again to close up together. It was snowing hard outside and the whole village felt as if it were tucked away for the night under a blanket of white.

Fred flicked his wand at a radio in the corner and Hermione was startled when, rather than one of the same twenty Wizarding holiday songs came on, a piano rendition of Angels We Have Heard on High began to drift through the speakers. When she looked at him in question, she was further surprised to see Fred’s cheeks had tinted pink a bit as he sorted through the stack of receipts beside the register.

“I, uh, I know you like it more than Wizard Radio,” he explained awkwardly.

“Thanks,” Hermione replied, a smile playing across her own lips. It was a terribly sweet gesture. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in tomorrow?”

“Nah, Jeremy and I can handle it. We’re closing early anyway.”

They lapsed into silence while she cast cleaning charms on the windows and floors, and Fred, in what was apparently his nightly ritual, began to make his way around the shop, restocking items that were low.

“Do you do that every night?” she asked curiously.

“Yeah, why?”

“I just sometimes come over for dinner around this time.”

“Oh, I, umm, I come back down after you leave and do it.”

“Oh.”

They continued quietly for a few more minutes.

“It’s just beautiful out there,” Hermione said softly, pausing her scouring to stare out the large front window. Fat white flakes were drifting and playing around the streetlights, contrasting against the dark sky.

“It really is,” Fred agreed, stopping to stand beside her. She didn’t notice that he barely paid the scene before them a second glance, instead watching the serene expression of wonderment on her face.

“Get the lights for a minute? We can see better that way.”

With a bemused look, Fred silently extinguished all but the small lamp over the till, casting them into darkness as they looked out the large display window, the snow now much more easily visible without the glare, and the moon peeking out from behind the clouds.

“Are you in a rush?” Fred asked, an idea forming in his mind.

“No… why on earth would you think I was in a rush?” Hermione asked, turning to look at him with a puzzled expression.

“No reason,” Fred said innocently, intricately weaving his wand at his side, out of her line of sight. “Well, would you look at that?”

She turned back to find that he had shifted the merchandise in the display to the far side of the platform and conjured a heap of pillows and blankets in the middle, offering them a perfect view of the street and the sky above.

Hermione’s heart was thudding so hard in her chest, she was surprised it wasn’t outwardly audible. He toed his shoes off and removed his jacket, draping it over the shelf beside him before stepping up onto the wide sill and offering a hand down to her. When she hesitated, he started to pull back with an uncertain expression.

_Fuck it_ , she thought, it was only extremely romantic if she made it out to be extremely romantic. She kicked off her boots and took his hand, letting him pull her up beside him.

Fred sank down and sat with his back against the frame of the window, giving him a perfect view down the street and up at the sky. Hermione, not wanting to be presumptuous, settled across from him and wrapped her arms around her knees.

“You’re welcomed to, um…” Fred gestured at the small space beside him and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “The view doesn’t seem great from over there.”

“I suppose it’s not,” she admitted slowly, grabbing a pillow and dragging a blanket over with her. They had cuddled up before, watching films on the sofa mostly, but this felt on a whole other level. By the time she’d gotten comfortable in the space he’d indicated, her body was turned in such a way that her head and shoulders were resting against his chest. “Is this alright?”

“’S great,” he replied, shifting his arm a bit so it rested on her waist. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes,” she answered honestly, letting herself mold into his side and pulling the blanket over their legs. Hermione wracked her brain and concluded that she couldn’t think of a time in her whole life that she had felt safer, or more at peace, than she did in that moment.

The snow continued to drift, and the clouds shifted, revealing glimpses of the moon and the stars above. The songs on the radio changed until finally a familiar tune began and Hermione chuckled under her breath.

“This was always my favorite when I was little, my dad would play it on the piano for me,” she explained as Judy Garland started to croon. 

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas  
Make the yuletide gay  
From now on  
Our troubles will be miles away_

“Hermione,” Fred started in a low voice that made her stomach flutter. She felt like she was barely breathing as she turned to look up at him, their faces just inches apart. His right hand came around to rest his fingertips lightly on her jaw. She licked her lips and his gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before reconnecting with her eyes, full of something warm and enticing.

“Yes, Fred?” she asked in the ghost of a whisper.

“I-“

Just then, a magpie Patronus swept through the window and stopped in front of them

“Taking Angie to the hospital, something is wrong, meet me there,” George’s panicked voice cut through the shop before the apparition dissolved. There was a beat of silence in which they both stayed frozen in place, staring at the space it had occupied.

“Go,” Hermione commanded, immediately disentangling herself from him. “I’ll close up here.”

His face having turned deathly pale, Fred nodded and quickly got up, slipping his shoes on and grabbing his jacket. He stopped for a moment and waivered in place while his eyes met hers again, only this time they were wide and frightened.

“Hermione –“

“Go,” she intoned again and offered what she hoped was a reassuring expression, “it’s okay.”

He looked like he was going to say something anyway but decided against it before turning on the spot and disappearing with a pop.

Hermione pulled in a tremendous breath and let it out, utterly consumed by a mix of emotions. Lust, anticipation, confusion, disappointment and, at the forefront, extreme anxiety for Angelina and the twins.

With a sad sigh, she got up and pulled her boots back on, vanishing the pillows and blankets and setting the display window back to rights. Not wanting Fred to have to deal with the shop being a mess, she finished her cleaning from earlier before picking up the crate he’d discarded and continuing to restock the shelves with what she hoped was an appropriate amount of each product.

When everything was done, she made sure he already put the money in the safe in the back of the shop and finished organizing the counter. Chewing the edge of her lip, she was torn between going back to her place and going upstairs to wait in his flat. She ultimately settled on the latter, locking up and tweaking the wards before heading up the stairs and letting herself in.

Hermione made a small fire in the hearth and curled up in the overstuffed armchair beside the tree. Coming down from the earlier rush of adrenaline, it wasn’t long before she started to doze off, head resting on the back of the chair with her legs tucked beneath her.

She awoke about an hour later to a tapping on the glass across the room. Rubbing her eyes, she extricated her stiff legs and crossed to open the window and remove a letter from the beak of a bored looking grey barn owl. When he realized she didn’t have anything to offer in the way of treats, he took off with a melodramatic flourish.

Hermione unfolded the note and felt herself relax as she read.

_Hermione,_

_Angie and the babies are fine, the healer said it was just false labor. George is a little shaken up, but Angie is still insisting on having the party. I’m going to stay here until he calms down a bit. Thank you so much for closing up the shop, I’ll see you tomorrow._

_Yours,  
Fred_

Previous tension leaving her body, she extinguished the fire and apparated home.

oOoOoOo

“Hermione?” Ginny called out, stepping out of the fireplace into her friend’s living room, “Are you here?”

“Yeah, come on up,” Hermione shouted down the stairs. She was currently standing in the middle of her bedroom in a knee-length purple dressing gown, staring at a small collection of holiday jumpers on her bed.

“What are you doing?” Ginny asked, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before kicking off her shoes and sitting cross-legged up near the pillows.

“Trying to pick which one to wear tonight,” she explained. She tapped one of the articles with her wand and it changed from green to dark blue.

“Are we aiming to impress someone?” Ginny asked suggestively.

“You’re as bad as your husband,” Hermione groaned, giving the witch a reproachful look.

“Speaking of which, Harry told me about Charlotte.”

“I figured he would. What do you think?”

“It’s ghastly,” Ginny said, recoiling from the aggressively pattered jumper Hermione was holding, which featured multicolored cats wearing Christmas hats.

“About Charlotte,” Hermione rolled her eyes, dropping the shirt and crossing to sink onto the stool in front of her vanity.

“Oh. I think that’s brilliant.”

“You think I can pull it off?”

“That jumper? Or being a mum?”

Hermione didn’t dignify that with a response, just giving the ginger witch another pointed look.

“Hermione,” Ginny said in a serious tone, “you spent the better part of our formative years keeping my husband and my brother alive. You even saved _my arse_ on more than one occasion. You’re going to be fantastic, there’s no reason to doubt yourself.”

“Thanks Gin,” she replied, surprised to feel herself noticeably calmed by the affirmation. Luna and Theo were two of her closest friends, but next to Harry and Ron, Ginny had known her the longest. They certainly had different interests, but she was the first female companion Hermione had ever really had.

“Fab. Now, which of these best says, ‘ravish me’?” Ginny wondered aloud, getting up to stand at the foot of the bed where Hermione had been, finger tapping her chin in contemplation.

“You realize it would be saying ‘ravish me’ to your brother, correct?”

“I am _violently_ pretending that is not the case,” she waved off, sifting through the discarded articles with an expression of disdain. “Hermione, these all look like something my Aunt Muriel would wear.”

“They’re supposed to be ugly,” Hermione defended, pulling her knees into her chest and resting her chin on them.

“Some of these redefine the very word,” Ginny said with a wrinkled nose before turning and heading for Hermione’s wardrobe. She rummaged for a moment. “What about this?”

“That’s not ugly at all!”

“Precisely.”

The redhead had extracted a hanger with a slinky, silvery grey top that had part of the back cut away.

“I can’t wear that!” Hermione cried, fervently shaking her head. It was something she had bought on impulse because it was discounted and then immediately shoved to the back of her closet to be forgotten about. It still had the tag on it. 

“Sure you can – I even have a charm for your tits so your bra straps won’t show.”

“Ginny, I’m going to look ridiculous, everyone else will be wearing garish holiday attire.”

“I’m sure there will be plenty of girls in attractive jumpers and dresses. I mean, can you see Verity wearing that?” Ginny said, pointing at the cat-patterned top.

Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the witch, disregarding the derisive comment about her clothing.

“Who told you about Verity?”

“Angie might have mentioned it at the hospital last night when we were waiting for her to be discharged.”

Hermione groaned, dropping her head into her hands. It was positively lovely having her personal life be the center of gossip within their circle of friends.

“Okay, see, this is why you have to look fit tonight. I don’t know what Fred is thinking going with her, but you are going to make him _deeply_ regret it. Now turn around and let me do your hair.”

“You’re like a really pushy fairy godmother.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Ginny replied in a distracted tone, beginning to pin her friend’s curls into place.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to the song "Whenever You’re Ready” by Ashley Price when I wrote the last bit of this chapter and I strongly recommend doing so while/after you read it. That's all.

“I’m going to break an ankle,” Hermione whined at Ginny when they flooed through to George and Angelina’s flat with Harry in tow, carrying the gifts.

“No, you aren’t, I put a stabilizing charm on your boots,” the redhead replied with a smug smirk before rushing over to greet Hannah, who was positioned near the food table with Ron. Being pregnant, her appetite actually gave him a run for his money these days.

“And if you do, I’ll cause a distraction so no one notices,” Harry whispered to her from behind, giving her a playful nudge with his shoulder before going to set their exchange gifts under the tree. She shot him a grateful smile.

“I’m so glad you came,” Angelina gushed, spotting Hermione across the room and hurrying over. “You look fantastic!”

The witch was wearing a red jumper with opposing white reindeer and text in the middle right over her bump that said, ‘I was naughty this year.’

“So do you,” Hermione laughed, reaching around to give her a hug. “Should you be on your feet?”

“Oh hush, I’m fine; George overreacted. I tried to tell him, every witch I’ve ever spoken to has described the pains of childbirth in _vivid_ detail to me at this point. I don’t expect I’ll miss it when it happens.”

Hermione took a cursory glance around the room and noted that, in addition to many people she didn’t recognize, pretty much everyone she knew in ‘their generation’ was there. Draco and Luna were chatting with Neville and Theo by the punch bowl; Bill and Fleur were cuddled up on the sofa together talking to Charlie; even Percy had showed, his arm looped through that of Blaise Zabini, who looked mildly uncomfortable but was clearly making an effort. No sign of Fred or Verity though.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to go talk to Draco,” Hermione said, giving Angie’s arm a squeeze and threading her way through the crowd. She wanted to get this taken care of before the eggnog and punch really started flowing.

“Hello Hermione,” Luna said, the first of their group to spot her. She bounded over and gave Hermione a warm hug, barely allowing her time to register that Luna was wearing what appeared to be footie pajamas with a reindeer hood, complete with antlers. “Happy Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas Luna,” Hermione responded with a smile. She greeted Neville and Theo in kind before turning back to the blonde. “Would you mind if I borrow your boyfriend for a moment?”

“Not at all,” Luna replied, drifting away to get another drink.

“Happy Christmas Hermione,” Draco greeted formally, awkwardly extending his hand. He hadn’t adhered to the dress code either, clad in a perfectly tailored emerald suit. His tie had dancing snowflakes on it though, which Hermione suspected was Luna’s handiwork.

“Oh, don’t be a tosser,” Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes before pulling him into a hug, which he returned after a second of stiff uncertainty. “Step on the balcony for a moment?”

“Of course,” he said, looking curiously at her as he pulled back. They ducked through the glass doors and onto the magically warmed terrace, the sounds within the flat muffling as they swung shut behind them. “What can I do for you?”

“I want to adopt Charlotte,” Hermione said quickly, the words leaving her mouth in a huff. A feeling of rightness settled over her as she sucked in a breath and plowed onward. “I know that I’m single and I work a lot and I don’t have any experience being a mum, but I love that little girl and I really think that I-“

“Granger, breathe,” Draco commanded, cutting her off. She was relieved to see his lips were twisting into a smirk. “You don’t have anything to prove to me; she’s going to be ecstatic.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely. When she’s not reading, all she does is babble about you and your class. I can start the paperwork on Monday, and you’ll be able to take her home before the new year.”

“Thank you, Draco,” Hermione said sincerely, pulling him in for another hug, one that he was prepared for this time and properly returned. She spoke into this shoulder, the smell of his cologne and peppermint clinging to his jacket, “You really aren’t such a terrible git anymore, you know that?”

“Want me to insult your hair?”

“Just try it; my right hook has only improved with age.”

She released him, brushing an errant tear from her cheek; after going over a few more details pertaining to the paperwork, he opened the door and the pair ducked back into the teeming room.

“Hey ‘Mione,” Ron said, appearing at her side with a plate full of food. Draco, tolerant as he had become in many ways, still had little patience for Ronald and peeled off back toward Luna as quickly as possible.

“Hi Ron,” Hermione said, giving him a half-hug. His waistband had grown a bit since their schooldays, but he was still as warm and welcoming as ever. “I caught up with Hannah the other day when she picked up Rose. How’ve you been?”

“Tired,” he said, a slightly vacant look crossing his face for a moment. “Two kids. Two kids are a lot. And now a third on the way… I don’t know how my mum did it.” 

“I suspect there was more firewhiskey involved than you were probably aware of,” Hermione joked.

“There had to have been – I’ve nearly gone ‘round the twist as it is.”

Just then, though the party was riddled with them, Hermione spotted an unmistakable ginger head to her left and, much to her dismay, a familiar blonde head next to it. Ginny had been right, of course. She’d always been better at predicting the motives and actions of other women.

Verity was clad in a skin-tight green sweaterdress that cut off mid-thigh and a pair of black stiletto boots that came up above the knee. Her hair fell in golden ringlets down her back and there was a Santa hat cocked sideways on top of her head. She looked like a fucking advert and Hermione wanted to wring her neck.

“Excuse me Ron, I need to grab a drink,” Hermione said, inadvertently cutting off his rant about Hugo’s refusal to eat anything green. “And just charm the broccoli a different color, you’re a wizard for Merlin’s sake.”

His jaw dropped in awe as she quickly made her way to the drink table. She grabbed a glass and filled it generously with punch, sucking that down hastily and topping it off again.

Hermione really thought she would be fine after Ginny’s pep talk, but seeing Fred here with Verity after last night stung in a way that honestly couldn’t be accounted for. It had to have been a fluke; they worked together all week and he thought he wanted something he didn’t. He was probably grateful the Patronus had interrupted after finding out Angelina was okay.

She looked around the room and noted that she wasn’t the only one having a rough night. Though most of the party was cheerfully chatting and drinking, Neville and Theo were off to the side in the midst of what appeared to be a relatively heated argument. Hermione was just contemplating making sure that everything was alright when she heard a bubbly laugh and looked back at Fred and Verity.

They were talking to a woman she didn’t recognize, and Fred’s arms were around Verity’s waist; he was smiling and she was giggling and they looked perfect together and something in Hermione’s chest splintered. She felt tears start to sting her eyes and her breath came in shallow gasps. It was all simply too much; the room was too warm, the lights too bright, the people too loud. Even the fabric of her silky blouse suddenly felt abrasive against her skin.

She set her empty glass of punch on the edge of the table and made a break for the balcony again, distantly hearing George announce that they would be starting the gift exchange in ten minutes. Luna looked at her from across the room with a concerned expression, but Hermione just shook her head before opening the doors and stepping into the fresh air, noting distantly that it had started to snow.

She debated apparating but her vision was blurry and the punch had gone to her head, so instead she walked to the edge of the terrace and began to carefully climb the wrought-iron spiral staircase that started near the back corner of the building and led up and onto the roof.

Though the balcony was charmed to stay warm, the roof was not, and the frigid December air made the streaks of tears on her face sting as she finished her ascent. She spotted an overturned wooden crate near the edge of the rooftop and sank onto it, putting her head in her hands and finally letting herself break.

It was stupid. It was juvenile and stupid, and she was about to be a mother, and Fred was still her friend, and none of that made the chasm in her chest hurt any less. She cast a warming charm on her immediate vicinity, dulling the cold, and moved her hands from her face up to her head, fingers raking through her curls to brutally rip out the pins Ginny had so skillfully placed several hours earlier. They made little pinging sounds as they hit the stone beneath her feet.

She was just about to conjure a glass and fill it with water in an attempt to sober up before heading home when there was a metallic creak behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fred’s head appear over the top of the roof and quickly turned away, wiping at the tears on her face with the sleeve of her blouse, thankful that she has used waterproof mascara.

“Hermione?”

“Go away Fred,” she said, voice thick. “Go back to the party.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sounding immediately alarmed and concerned. She had never spoken to him like that before. Ron, yes, Harry, on occasion, but not Fred. Never Fred.

“It’s nothing. I just don’t feel much in the mood to celebrate tonight.”

Which was so fucking stupid because not an hour earlier she had been crying tears of joy at the prospect of bringing her daughter home. She just shook her head.

“I saw you leave and I… it’s not Charlotte, is it? You were talking to Malfoy and then you ran off and I thought maybe…”

“No, everything is fine with Charlotte.”

Merlin damn him for still being so unwaveringly fucking sweet in a moment where she wanted nothing more than to put a continent between them.

“Please, just talk to me.”

He stopped behind her and placed a hand gently on her shoulder; she squeezed her eyes shut and wondered briefly if it was possible to apparate by sheer force of will.

“I can’t talk to you Fred,” she finally snapped as she got up and spun to face him. “I can’t talk to you because there’s nothing that I can say that changes anything! Because I feel like I am fucking _dying_ watching you here with her after… when I… and I don’t know how to cope with that!”

She shouted the last through tears and he nearly swayed away from her, shocked by the venom in her tone, watching as her hair swirled wildly around her face in the wind. She looked like some sort of ethereal being; a goddess of anger and heartache. And in three strides he closed the gap between them.

Hermione sucked in a startled breath, nearly stumbling backward in surprise when he reached out a hand and caught her around the waist, pulling her tight against his warm, firm chest. The wind kicked up again, a flurry of snow drifting around them in a cyclone, and there was a pause. A single second in which everything stopped. Warm, brown eyes met deep blue and their chests rose and fell in unison. Just one breath.

And then, all at once, his lips crashed into hers.

And he was kissing her.

And it was _everything_.


	10. Chapter 10

“Fred,” she gasped against his mouth, lips parting slightly as she breathed him in, tasted him on her tongue. Her arms rose, wrapping around his neck as she lifted onto her tiptoes. As warm as Fred could be, as safe as he made her feel, there was nothing soft about this. He didn’t kiss her, he consumed her. The arm around her waist pulled tighter and his other hand knotted in the hair at the base of her neck.

This went on for moments, or perhaps hours, until in one fluid motion he lifted her, and her knees hitched around his hips, pressing the most intimate parts of them together. She moaned, feeling him respond beneath her. Before she processed what was happening, he turned on the spot and they were no longer on the roof, ensconced in a fading warming charm, but in his dark bedroom. It was so skillfully done, she barely felt the uncomfortable squeezing sensation of apparation.

He removed his hand from her hair to wandlessly light a pair of candles on the bedside table and then, without preamble, he dropped her on her back onto the mattress. He paused then, kneeling between her legs, and looked at her. Good Godric, the way he looked at her… 

He placed one hand on the inside of her upper right thigh, her hips twitching upward in response, before brushing his fingertips down the inseam of her jeans and unzipping her boot. He tossed it to the side along with her sock and repeated the process with the other leg. She met his eyes and sat up as she reached shaking hands to the hem of her blouse and pulled it up and over her head, discarding it and falling back in front of him, bare except for her trousers. Her nipples pebbled against the air and Fred let out a ragged breath as he gazed down at her.

He quickly divested himself of his own jumper and lowered his mouth to her chest. Expecting him to go for her breasts, she gasped in surprise when he placed his lips gently over the scar that ran from her left hip up to her right shoulder. It always made her self-conscious the first time she was with a new partner and the fact that kissing it was the first thing he’d done made her want to cry. Because of course he knew; even without telling him, without even hinting at it, he somehow knew.

He traced his mouth along the ridge of scar tissue before she placed a hand lightly under his jaw and pulled him back up to her. This kiss was much less violent than the one on the roof, less primal, but not in any way lacking heat.

His forearms braced on either side of her and Hermione slipped a hand between them, popping the button on his trousers open. Fred pulled back and looked at her in question and she nodded once before lunging forward and capturing his mouth again. He took one hand and undid the button on her jeans, tugging them down and taking her knickers with them. She tried her best to reach around and do the same to him, thankful when he assisted.

And then they were naked, and the friction of it, his skin against hers, made her head spin. She clung to his broad shoulders, feeling muscles stretch and pull beneath her palms, not noticing when he lowered a hand again to circle her clit, catching her off guard and making her gasp. He flicked his fingers back and forth rapidly, pushing her closer and closer to an inevitable brink.

“Please,” she whispered after several minutes, and he dropped his head to the hollow of her throat, sucking and biting in a tantalizing rhythm that had her attempting to press her thighs together to relieve the building pressure. When she was nearly ready to come, toes curling and breath coming in gasps, he backed off. She was about to protest when he suddenly pushed inside her and every thought in her head vanished.

Everything was Fred. His taste, his touch, his smell, the sound of him… she closed her eyes and she swore it was like looking into the sun, feeling the heat on her eyelids; she had been with men before, but she had never burned, not like this.

After an excruciating moment while they both adjusted to the new sensation, chests rising and falling, he began to move and she dug her nails into his shoulders where they desperately sought purchase. He lifted his lips from her neck and slowed, pulling back to look in her eyes and raising a hand to brush a stray curl away from her forehead.

In that moment, looking at him, Hermione’s heart simultaneously broke and came together all at once. Because if she couldn’t have him, if there wasn’t a future for them, at least she had this. Tonight, she was his and he was hers and if that was all they would be, perhaps in this one, infinite moment, that could be enough.

Fred kissed her gently then, their lips melting into one another as he picked up the pace, guiding himself in and out of her. Sooner than before, she was back at the precipice. She rolled her hips up to meet him, squeezing, and it sent them both tumbling over the edge. He groaned and his fingers dug into her thigh so hard, she was sure there would be bruises. Good.

They were both breathing heavily when she came back to herself. He shifted to the side but was still laying across her chest, carefully distributing his weight so as not to crush her. As she watched the snow fall outside the window, she lightly threaded her fingers through his hair, coppery strands reflecting the flickering candlelight.

Cheek resting out of sight against her chest, Fred smiled in long-sought contentment.

Head laid back against the pillows, Hermione tried not to cry.

oOoOoOo

It was perhaps one in the morning when she awoke. The snow was still falling outside and Fred was sleeping soundly beside her, having rolled over and drawn the covers up to his waist.

Oh God, what had she done? There was no world in which Fred woke up in the morning and didn’t in some way regret this. The previous night aside, he had clearly been keeping her at arm’s length since she told him about Charlotte and now… and oh God, Verity. He had left her alone at the party. 

Hermione began to panic, breathing hard as her fight or flight instincts kicked in. She needed to get out of there. She’d ruined everything, and it was going to cost her her best friend, and who knew what else. She silently flipped the blanket off herself and, quietly as she could, quickly pulled on her trousers and blouse, scooping her boots and wand off the floor.

She gave his sleeping form one last look before she turned on her heel and made for the fireplace in the living room. She wasn’t crying anymore, and it wasn’t sadness she was feeling. It was numbness. Something beyond simple grief. Because she loved Fred.

She could lie to herself, and she could joke, and she could call him her friend, but her heart wanted more, needed more. And she wouldn’t do that to him. He deserved better than what she had to offer. 

She stepped barefoot into the floo, holding her boots and wand and, with a whispered command and a flash of green, she was back in her house. It took her a moment to comprehend that the lamp beside the sofa was on and Theo was sitting in the middle of her sofa, half-empty firewhiskey bottle in hand and wrapped in a blanket while the television played quietly in the background. He looked about as good as she felt.

“I slept with Fred,” Hermione said when he looked up with red-rimmed eyes, her voice sounding foreign as it rang through the quiet house.

“I broke up with Neville,” Theo replied hoarsely.

After a moment in which they simply looked at each other, he pulled the edge of the blanket back and she sighed. She dropped her boots on the ground beside the hearth with a thunk before crossing the room and curling under it next to him.

He wordlessly offered her the bottle of firewhiskey, which she accepted, pressing it to her lips and feeling the amber liquid scorch her tongue. She dropped her head onto the back of the sofa and he raised the volume on the telly a couple clicks. She thought gloomily that it was a hell of a way to start Christmas Eve.

oOoOoOo

She wasn’t sure when exactly she had passed out on the sofa with Theo, but by the time they woke up the next day it was nearly noon. Head pounding and back aching, she went upstairs to check the basket in her library, intended to collect letters from owls when she wasn’t around to do so personally. Empty.

She slowly descended again and dropped back into the nest of pillows and blankets they had created on the sofa; Theo had gotten up to use her bathroom. He’d nearly been worse off than she had the previous night. Apparently, the argument she’d witnessed at the party had been the miniscule tip of a very large iceberg. Earlier that day, Neville had proposed to Theo and Theo, damaged as he made himself out to be, had panicked.

“I couldn’t do it,” he confessed to her in the wee hours of the morning, eyes staring vacantly forward at the Christmas tree in the corner. “I couldn’t do that to him. I’m too fucked up. Between my father and my mother and everything that happened with the war… he deserves someone that isn’t emotionally inept.”

Hermione, who would normally chastise her friend for being so self-deprecating, snorted softly and nodded in understanding. While she didn’t agree, Theo was clearly capable of loving and being loved as much as anybody was, she’d be a hypocrite to tell him he wasn’t justified in his decision. Hadn’t she just done the same thing?

“I’m going home,” he said, emerging from her downstairs toilet clutching his jacket in one hand. “You’re out of firewhiskey and I don’t plan on being sober again until the new year.”

She just nodded. Apparently, the events of the previous night had rendered her mute.

“Take care of yourself Hermione,” he said. As he turned and walked to her fireplace to floo home, he chuckled darkly under his breath and shook his head. “And Happy fucking Christmas.”

After he disappeared, she slumped sideways on the sofa and pulled the blanket over herself, curling her knees into her stomach. She felt movement by her feet and, a moment later, four paws began to pad up her leg and over her hip until Felix stepped into the vacant space on the sofa in front of her chest. He looked at her, likely concerned that she might waste away and he would starve, and clumsily bopped the top of his head against her cheek.

“You still love me, yeah?”

He meowed in response before circling and kneading until he plopped down below her chin. She scratched his ears and huffed out a sigh, the pounding in her head intensifying as she did so. How could things have gone so wrong so very quickly?

Other than getting up for a trip to the loo, a change of clothes, and a plate of toast and jam, that was how Harry found her several hours later.

“Hermione, are you – oof,” he said, cutting off when he stepped through the fireplace and spotted her buried under a mass of blankets. He raised his eyebrows at her and she just shook her head. “I’m not going to bother asking if you’re alright.”

“Spectacular,” she croaked, sitting up and taking her cocoon with her.

“What happened last night?” he asked, crossing the living room and taking a seat beside her. “You disappeared right before the gift exchange, and then nobody could find Fred…”

It was only then that she began to cry in earnest.

“Harry,” she choked between sobs, “I messed everything up.”

Felix gave him an accusatory look before getting off the sofa in search of his food bowl.

“Hey, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think,” her friend offered uncertainly, putting an arm around her shaking shoulders. “Come on, it’s Fred. What could have possibly-?”

“I love him,” she gasped, cutting him off. “I love him and he… he doesn’t want me, not like that.”

“Did he say that?” Harry asked, immediately going on the defensive.

She shook her head and pointlessly whisked tears off of her cheeks only to have them replaced seconds later.

“I slept with him Harry.”

Harry, who was normally happy not to be privy to _any_ details pertaining to her sex life, raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh.”

A hysterical chuckle bubbled to her lips at the expression on his face.

“Did you two… how did you leave things?”

“We didn’t,” she explained, accepting the handkerchief he had conjured and offered to her. “I left before he woke up.”

“So, you didn’t talk about it?”

She shook her head.

“Bleeding hell…” he dragged a hand through his hair and sat back against the cushions. “For two absolutely brilliant people, you’re being utter morons.”

“Gee, thanks,” she scoffed, “don’t kick me while I’m down or anything.”

“Look,” he said, getting off the sofa, “just come to The Burrow for Christmas roast tomorrow, okay?”

“Have you lost your mind?!” she asked, staring at him as if she’d never seen him before. “I can’t go there!”

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course, but I-“

“Do you think I would ask you to go if I thought it was a bad idea?”

“No, but Harry-“

“Come to The Burrow tomorrow for dinner.”

She looked up at him, a man that she had quite literally marched into fire with, and slowly nodded. Whether it was because she genuinely believed things would work out or because she simply wanted _someone_ to have the answers, she wasn’t sure. But when everything was going wrong, trusting Harry had proved a sound decision in the past.

“Love you Hermione,” he leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “Drink some water and sleep in your bed tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”


	11. Chapter 11

True to word, Hermione slept in her bed that night, descending the stairs in the morning to find that several presents had appeared beneath her tree, mostly from people she hadn’t planned to see that day. Luna, Theo, Neville… even a card signed by all of her students at the orphanage.

She sifted through them one by one, Felix not missing the opportunity to play with the discarded wrapping. The ridiculous creature even had the audacity to turn his nose up at the three-galleon toy she had purchased for him, a stuffed mouse charmed to run around the house, in favor of a bit of ribbon.

When all was said and done, she stacked several books, a lovely cashmere scarf, and two boxes of personalized stationary to her left. Luna, not surprisingly, had gone the less traditional route, gifting her a pair of earrings made from what appeared to be cylinders of clear resin with tiny flowers ensconced within. They were actually very pretty.

After cleaning up anything Felix might choke on, Hermione got to her feet and retrieved the small stack of gifts for everyone that would be at the party and placed them beside the fireplace. Her fingers played uncertainly over the wrapping on Fred’s before she ultimately decided to bring it. It would be a waste not to.

She distracted herself with one of the new tomes and a pot of tea before she eventually went upstairs to change, cursing the fact that holiday meals were served in the afternoon. Unsure exactly what she was walking into, she took a quick shower and partially dried her hair before pulling it into a plait that rested on her shoulder. Knowing it would be a casual affair, she pulled on a pair of jeans and the Weasley jumper from the year prior.

Opting out of eye makeup, she blotted on a bit of foundation and lip balm and called it a day.

With a sigh, she glanced at the clock on her bedside table and saw it was nearly half-two. Everyone was likely already at the Burrow eating appetisers and socialising. Feeling as if she were marching to the gallows, Hermione walked down the stairs and over to the fireplace, pulling on her boots and picking up the stack of gifts.

“Be good,” she said to Felix, who had passed out in a pile of shredded wrapping paper.

Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, she stepped into the fireplace and called out, “The Burrow!”

She shook her head to clear the little bit of ash that kicked up as she emerged in the living room of the Weasley home to see, as predicted, nearly everyone that was coming already congregated. Clearly Harry had played the information he’d learned yesterday close to the chest, because they all greeted her with smiles, open arms and holiday wishes.

“I missed you the other night,” Angelina said when Hermione was passed in her direction, “you disappeared before the game.”

“Sorry,” Hermione said, pulled into a hug by Charlie before she could offer any sort of explanation. That was probably for the best.

When the initial greetings were done, she deposited her gifts under the tree and drifted into the kitchen to find Molly and Fleur working on dinner.

“Hello sweetheart,” Molly said, giving her a kiss on the cheek, “I’m so glad you could come.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it,” Hermione said weakly, trying to pretend that she hadn’t just slept with the woman’s son and then fled like a gutless flobberworm. Speaking of which, looking around the kitchen she noted that besides Percy, who was spending the actual holiday in Milan with Blaise and his mother, the only person absent from the party was Fred.

A tidal wave of guilt washed over her at the thought that she had chased him away from his own family. But, before she had the chance to panic and run off again, Harry and Ginny pulled her into the living room to watch Teddy, Victoire, Rose and little Hugo open their gifts. It was a sweet, if somewhat chaotic and drawn-out affair.

Molly had just poked her head out of the kitchen to announce ten minutes until supper when Ginny dragged Hermione off the sofa and toward the hallway where it was quieter.

“Did you get my owl last night?” she asked, receiving a puzzled look from Hermione.

“Owl? I – no, I’m sorry. What did it say?”

“I was hoping I could borrow that pair of sapphire earrings for photos after dinner.”

“Shite, no, I didn’t see it. Do you want me to go get them?”

Assuming she would say no, because it really wasn’t that big a deal, Hermione was a little surprised when she nodded.

“Umm, okay, I’ll be right back…” she said in confusion as she made her way to the fireplace and disappeared in a burst of green flames.

All of the adults quieted then and looked around at one another, except Arthur who was on the ground playing with the children; Harry came to rest beside Ginny, and Molly and Fleur leaned their heads out of the kitchen again.

“Do you think he had time to get everything set up?” Angie asked no one in particular from her position beside George on the sofa, tracing a hand nervously over her belly.

“I expect we’ll find out,” Harry replied, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist and looking at the spot Hermione had been moments before.

oOoOoOo

Hermione arrived back in her living room to find that, for the second time in the past 48 hours, things were not as she had left them. Only this time, rather than a dejected, drunk millionaire camped on her sofa, it was a much less depressing change.

The blinds were drawn on the windows and, in addition to her Christmas tree lights twinkling, there were perhaps fifty tea light candles in little jars lining the path from the fireplace to the stairs.

“What on earth…?” she began to question aloud before quieting and realizing there was music playing somewhere in the house.

A wartime Hermione might have drawn her wand, but instead she just verified it was in her pocket before proceeding cautiously across the room to the foot of the stairs. She heard in the distance:

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas  
Let your heart be light_

Her heart in her throat, she took the first step and slowly ascended, the music increasing in volume as she went, though still remaining quite soft. When she reached the landing, she was surprised to find that the candles led not to her own bedroom on the left, but the spare room she had cleared out for Charlotte the week prior.

_Here we are as in olden days  
Happy golden days of yore_

She debated calling out, but proceeded forward instead, rounding the corner into the door frame of the vacant room. Or, rather, the previously vacant room.

“Fred?” Hermione blurted in surprise, finding the man standing in the middle of the chamber.

The formerly cream walls had been coloured a light, sky blue, and to his left stood a gorgeous four poster bed of amber stained wood, with a gossamer white canopy overhead. There was a matching night table and wardrobe beside it, and then to his right were two floor-to-ceiling bookcases that were filled edge to edge and flanking an overstuffed chair in a darker shade of blue than the walls. The source of the music turned out to be her radio from downstairs, which was set on the bedside table, although it looked as if there was a cassette tape playing.

Once Hermione had recovered from the initial shock of the room, her eyes settled on Fred himself. He looked a bit knackered, and he was dressed similarly to her in a pair of jeans and a jumper with trainers, but the expression on his face was what made her falter. It was one of such hopeful vulnerability, she couldn’t stop the surprised huff of breath that slipped from between her lips.

“I, umm,” he started before inhaling and steadying himself, “I know you mentioned you were stressed about decorating the room and I thought it might be something that I could do for you, erm, help with I mean, though as I’m standing here and you aren’t saying anything I’m beginning to question if it was too presumptuous, and if that’s the case I’m really sorry, but I-“

“Fred?” Hermione repeated, looking around the room and then back at him again. He paused his speech and met her eyes.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry about the other night.”

She needed to say it before she said anything else. He had to know that she didn’t mean to hurt him; that her intentions in leaving were, in the long term, meant to prevent that very thing.

“I’m sorry about Verity,” he replied, wincing a bit. “Harry explained everything; it wasn’t what you thought – I was just trying to help her out. Her rotten sister was visiting from The States and she always tortures her about not having settled down, so I offered to stand in for the evening. I didn’t think… you never go to the holiday parties, it wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a favor for a friend.”

“You’re not dating Verity,” Hermione asked slowly, processing everything he’d just said.

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head and running a hand through his already-mussed hair. “I am not remotely interested in Verity.”

“Then why did you… why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, a bit askance.

“I was going to, but after you told me about Charlotte, you made it sound like you weren’t interested in seeing anybody.”

“Fred, you aren’t just anybody to me,” Hermione said, her eyes pleading for him to understand the utter truth of those words. “You’re my best friend.”

“Right, come to that, I don’t want to just be your friend,” he said, taking a step toward her. “I love you Hermione. I have been in love with you for a while now, and whatever you want, whatever you need me to be while you figure everything out with Charlotte, I can be that. I _will_ be that. Because I think you are absolutely remarkable; you’re the person I want to be with when everything is going well, and the person I want to lean on when it’s all a mess, and I am _completely_ incapable of picturing my life without you in it. Frankly, I don’t even want to try.”

Hermione closed her eyes and felt a smile stretch her lips as something in her chest clicked into place, mending the broken pieces from two nights prior.

“Say it again,” she requested softly, opening her eyes and meeting his as she took a step toward him.

“I can’t picture my life without you in it?” he asked, brow furrowing a little.

“Before that.”

A small laugh escaped, and the corner of his mouth tugged up in a smirk. “I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Forward a bit.” She stopped in front of him, so close that they were almost touching, but not quite.

“I love you.”

She reached a hand up and cupped the side of his face before rolling onto her tiptoes and tugging him down to meet her lips. It was a simple kiss; warm and welcoming, just as Fred had always been, with traces of a smile from both of them. It was the kiss that should have been their first. She broke away but rested her forehead against his for a moment while she caught her breath before pulling back to look him in the eye again.

“It’s not going to be easy,” she said, a hint of trepidation in her tone.

“I know that.”

“We might even disagree on things.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“Charlotte is going to get attached to you.”

There it was – the crux of the issue, the reason Hermione had spent the past week so convinced they wouldn’t work. That’s why his next words struck her so deeply.

“As long as the two of you will have me, I’m not going anywhere.”

Hermione blinked back tears and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

“I love you so much,” she said as she stepped forward into his arms and let herself be drawn in tight against his chest.

“Well it certainly took you long enough to mention it,” he teased, resting his chin on top of her head.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, listening to her favorite song play on a loop before Hermione drew back to look up at him.

“How long do you think we have before we’re expected back at The Burrow?”

“I’m not sure… what did you have in mind?” he responded, arching a lascivious eyebrow.

She grinned.

oOoOoOo

“Thank you for doing this Draco,” Hermione said, vanishing the slush from their boots as she crossed the entry of Malfoy House.

“Just call me father Christmas,” he quipped, the sound of children’s laughter carrying through the background. “I normally like to be present for this process, but Charlotte already knows you and I don’t expect it will be poorly received. We just finished eating, let me go get her.”

“Are you nervous?” Fred asked once Draco disappeared, helping her out of her coat and slinging it over his arm with his own.

“A bit,” she admitted, taking his proffered hand and feeling him give it a calming squeeze.

“Hi Hermione – oh, hello Fred,” Luna said kindly, drifting from down a side passage toward the dining room with a sleeping toddler resting against her shoulder. “I’m so glad to see you two worked things out before the New Year; I wasn’t sure. And don’t fret, she’s going to be excited. Happy Christmas!”

Hermione couldn’t tell if it was a friendly reassurance or a prophecy, much as with anything Luna said, but the blonde vanished through the doorway without further comment. A moment later, Draco appeared and pointed, saying something unintelligible and directing Charlotte to them. He closed the massive oak doors behind her, offering them privacy

“Miss Granger, Mr. Fred, what are you doing here on Christmas?” the little girl asked with wide eyes, her hair pulled back in twin bunches on either side of her head.

“We came by to talk to you,” Hermione said, “is that okay?”

“Yes…” Charlotte said, a hint of unease in her tone. “Did I forget to turn in homework?”

“No, nothing like that at all. Why don’t we go sit down?” Hermione led her to a small parlor off the foyer, a pair of sofas framing a crackling fireplace with an enormous wreath hanging over it. When they had settled side by side on one with Fred across from them on the other, Hermione turned to the girl and took a breath.

“Do you remember the other day when we were talking about Rachel getting adopted?”

“Yes,” she confirmed with a nod, “and you told me that I would get adopted someday too.”

“Yes, I did. Charlotte, how would you feel if I told you that _I_ wanted to adopt you?”

Her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open a little bit.

“ _You_ want to adopt me?”

“If that’s something you would like as well, yes, I would.”

“Just like Miss Honey adopted Matilda?”

Hermione couldn’t suppress a grin at that. “Actually, exactly like that. Although I think Mr. Malfoy and Miss Luna are nicer than her parents were.”

The girl quieted for a moment, her brow furrowing as she contemplated that scenario.

“So… if you’re going to be my new mum, does that mean that you’ll be my new dad, Mr. Fred?” Charlotte asked innocently, turning her attention to the wizard across from them.

Hermione felt all the blood rush to her cheeks as she opened her mouth to say something, but she bit her tongue when Fred set the coats on the sofa beside him and got up. He rounded the coffee table and dropped to a knee in front of Charlotte, who was still seated.

“I care about Hermione very much,” he said, and the little girl smiled and looked at the witch in question for a second before turning back to him. “And someday we might all decide together that I could have the privilege of being your dad. But, for right now, I would like very much to be friends with you Charlotte, and spend lots of time with the both of you. Would that be all right?”

She nodded eagerly, bouncing a little in her seat.

“So, I’ll get to come and live with you?” she asked Hermione.

“You will indeed,” Hermione replied. “Mr. Fred was actually just helping me get your room ready earlier today.”

“Do you have lots of books? Mr. Malfoy has lots of books.”

“Charlotte,” Fred said in a serious tone, “Hermione has so many books, you won’t believe your eyes when you see them. There’s barely room to walk around in her house without running into stacks of the things.”

Charlotte giggled and Hermione rolled her eyes. The adults answered some of her questions, explaining that there were still some things to be done before she could move in, but Hermione promised to come and visit that week while everything got sorted.

When they got up about a half-hour later, Charlotte was chattering about how she was going to play with Felix and go through Hermione’s books to make a big list of the ones she wanted to read. When they walked back into the foyer, Fred ducked out to retrieve Draco.

“Miss Hermione,” Charlotte started slowly, lips twisted a bit, “thank you for wanting to be my mum.”

Hermione blinked rapidly in a futile attempt not to cry and alarm the little girl.

“I’m thrilled that you’ll have me, sweetheart.”

Charlotte suddenly lunged forward and threw her arms around Hermione’s neck, who took a step backward to steady them before squeezing tightly.

“I take it things went well,” Draco said, walking beside Fred out of the dining room.

Charlotte released Hermione and spun around with a wide grin.

“Miss Hermione is going to adopt me!” she half-shouted.

Fred suppressed a laugh from off to the side.

“Well she’s not going to do it right this minute,” Draco said, smiling in spite of himself. “Rachel was looking for you, why don’t you go tell her your news?”

“Okay – bye Miss Hermione, bye Mr. Fred. Happy Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas,” the pair replied in unison.

Charlotte ran back into the dining room with a skip in her step and Hermione finally let out the breath she had been holding and blotted at the corners of her eyes with her sleeve.

“I’ll send you an owl tomorrow with preliminary paperwork,” Draco said. “Fortunately, this process is still relatively new, so there isn’t much to it. For now, go and enjoy the rest of your holiday.”

“Thank you again for everything,” Hermione said sincerely, letting Fred help her into her coat.

The two of them departed into the lightly falling snow and headed down the path toward the apparition point beyond the wards, Hermione’s gloved hand twined with Fred’s.

“So, has it turned out to be a good Christmas?” he asked.

“This may be the best Christmas I’ve ever had,” Hermione said thoughtfully.

“Ready for everything that comes next?”

She glanced down at their hands and smiled.

“I’m ready for anything.”


	12. Christmas Day - One year later

“Did you pick up the gift for Theo and Neville when you were in London yesterday?” Hermione asked, pouring two cups of tea and passing one across the counter to Fred. He was still in his checkered pyjamas at Hermione’s insistence.

“Yes; although I still think it’s a bit of a racket, you giving them a gift when you’re in the wedding party.”

“Draco’s in the wedding party too, and he got them a gift.”

“Draco is the third wealthiest wizard in Britain.”

Those very words, or near enough, had been splashed across the cover of Witch Weekly the past spring when he had finally proposed to Luna. He’d also announced it would be a long engagement; for PR purposes, this was to allow time for him to sort the Malfoy estate’s assets, but in reality, Luna had started talking about a ‘traditional ceremony,’ performed naked under the full moon, and Draco needed as much time as he could get to attempt to talk her out of it.

“Still, it’s the principle of the thing,” Hermione said, settling on the sofa beside him and looking at the presents under the tree.

“What time are we meant to be at Harry and Ginny’s later?”

“Two, but I might walk over early to help Ginny finish setting up.”

Within a few months of Charlotte moving in with Hermione, shortly before Fred did the same, Harry and Ginny had purchased a cottage a few houses down from theirs and announced they would be adopting a pair of siblings from Malfoy House when the school year ended; a boy age five named Nicholas and a girl age nine named Daisy.

There was a lot of teasing directed at Hermione for starting a trend, but the fact of the matter was that Harry adopting was beyond fitting given his own upbringing, and it would allow Ginny to continue playing quidditch for a few more years before retiring. Harry continued teaching Defence at Hogwarts and simply flooed or walked up to the school each day, and he retrieved the kids from Hermione’s after.

Once Fred officially moved in, he left his flat to Jeremy, who took over day to day operations at the shop and finally hired on another employee, freeing up Fred’s time immensely. He put this to good use, building a shed behind their home and using it to test and develop new products – when he wasn’t playing with Charlotte or his _many_ nieces and nephews.

Similarly, George and Angelina had Verity step up as manager of the London location and bought their own home in the suburbs with plenty of room for the twins, Felicity and Grace, as well as the hypothetical third child they frequently discussed. Hannah, on the other hand, had put her foot down after giving birth to baby Liam, and Ron ultimately seemed relieved about it. 

“The only child in the world that sleeps in on Christmas morning,” Fred scoffed, looking at the clock on the mantle that showed half-nine.

“I wasn’t sleeping, I woke up early so I could finish my book,” Charlotte said, appearing behind them in her pyjamas and scrambling up to sit on the arm of the sofa.

“She really is your daughter,” he said morosely, shaking his head at Hermione, who was chuckling into her tea.

“Can I start opening them, mum?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Hermione replied, cuddling into Fred’s side as the girl hopped down and began tearing into the stack of wrapped presents with her name on them. When all was said and done, she had received no less than 14 new books, a basket of sweets from her Grandma Molly and Grandpa Arthur, a training broom from her Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny, a bottlecap necklace from her Aunt Luna, a set of nail varnishes from her friend Rachel, an enchanted bookmark from her cousin Daisy that had little shooting stars floating across the parchment, and a weekend visit to the Louvre and the Musée des Archives Nationales in Paris with Hermione and Fred in the spring.

The couple had each opened several parcels as well, though they would see the vast majority of their friends and family later that day.

Charlotte was eagerly skimming one of her new books while the two of them sat on the sofa, listening to the soft Christmas music and watching the snow fall lightly outside the window.

“Char, what’s that on the branch there?” Fred asked abruptly, leaning forward and pointing at a small silver package that was nestled in the lower branches of the tree, barely visible.

“What else did you get her?” Hermione whispered, not recognizing the wrapping. Fred didn’t respond.

“It’s a present,” Charlotte said with a wide grin, reaching in to grab it. Rather than opening it herself though, she climbed onto the cushion between them and handed the small gift to Hermione.

“Is my name on it?” Hermione asked in confusion.

“Just open it,” Fred directed, shooting Charlotte a look in an attempt to cease her giggling.

With a bemused, if slightly perplexed, smile, Hermione untied the ribbon and pulled the top off the box only to have a smaller, black velvet box tumble into her lap.

“Fred…” she said slowly, reaching to grab it with trembling fingers. She opened the jewelry case to see that it was empty. Baffled, she looked up and found him knelt in front of her on one knee, holding a gorgeous silver engagement ring between his fingers. Charlotte was practically vibrating with excitement beside her on the sofa.

“Charlotte and I have been talking and she thinks it’s about time we become a proper family, and I must say I’m inclined to agree. Hermione, the past year has been the craziest and best in my entire life, and you’ve known me for sixteen years; that’s no small feat. I love you, both of you, and if you’ll have me, I want to spend the rest of my life showing you that every single day. Will you marry me?”

Hermione, who had practically dissolved into a puddle of tears at that point, choked out a yes before launching herself at Fred and tackling him into a pile of discarded wrapping paper amid raucous laughter, making Felix meow in protest and dart from the room.

A second later, a warm weight landed heavy on her back and made both her and Fred beneath her grunt between their mirth.

“Does this mean I can have a sister or a brother now?” Charlotte asked impatiently, resting her chin on her mum’s shoulder.

Hermione and Fred shared a pointed look; Fred arched an eyebrow and Hermione gave him a quick nod, accompanied by a wry smirk.

“Well Char, about that…”


End file.
